


Flavor of Gold

by griseldalafey



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Chocolate, F/M, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-03-21 10:26:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3688758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griseldalafey/pseuds/griseldalafey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle French becomes an apprentice to the seclusive and introvert chocolatier Rum Gold. Slowly feelings start to bloom between the two of them, but then a secret threatens their romance and the chocolate factory and forcing Belle into making an impossible decision. Two years later, a heart-broken, vindictive Gold attends the Culinary Guild Jubilee and they'll have to face each other once more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: It could not be less mine. Once Upon a Time belongs to Adam Horowitz and Eddy Kitsis, ABC and Disney. This disclaimer applies for the whole story. 
> 
> Author’s note: the story is inspired on the following prompt:  Belle works for the chocolate factory. She is send to the small town of Storybrooke to steal the recipes of the most famous Chocolatier, Mr. Gold. Seduce the secluded and shy man must not be a problem, but, is the man or too much chocolate becoming and aphrodisiac?
> 
> This was originally posted on ‘Rumbelle Daily Prompt’ on Tumblr. I took a few liberties with the plot-line.

The drive to Avonlea was spend in tense silence. Dove drove the car soundlessly and effortlessly over roads that became increasingly more drivable as they reached the heart of the industrial area. From the moment they had left the factory and drove into Salem’s Woods, Gold had busied himself with a seemingly endless stack of paperwork, scribbling away furiously, refusing to look up and meet the eyes of his companions.

Jefforson Hatter stared out of the window, taking in his surroundings, his trademark good humor fading in the face of the sea of grayness and steel that seemed to swallow them as they neared the city of Avonlea. He barely could make out the houses they passed through the heavy fog that had descended on the streets and obscured his view. Every now and then the harsh, cold light of a street lamp cleared up some of the vapor and illuminated the filthy, deserted streets. A black, sticky sludge clung to every surface, soiling the buildings and pavement.  It was only four o’ clock in the afternoon, but it was already darkening like evening was falling.

When they had left Hamelin that morning the sun had shone brightly, coloring the sky blue and casting a golden glow on the red, orange and ochre leaves of the autumn trees. Driving through this desolate city, Jefferson felt like the very happiness was being sucked out of him.  
Eventually they reached the inner city of Avonlea were most of the manufactures were located and Jefferson watched in a state of terrified awe how endless high buildings, almost scraping the sky, followed each other in rapid order.  
Most of the buildings were connected to each other by a system of tunnels and through the massive windows he watched people in uniform trudge through them, their shoulders slumped and their head bowed, fatigue radiating from their postures.  
He realized this must be the employees of the many large factories, returning from working their shifts at the assembly line. Because of the bright light in the tunnels he could see them despite the fog and he noticed their identical, shapeless uniforms made out of a stark, grey material and the way their heads were covered by some kind of helmet.

The whole atmosphere of the city was suffocating and smothering and involuntarily his thoughts drifted back to Belle French as he remembered her. Happy and vibrant with thick, shining chestnut curls and sparkling blue eyes. It was incomprehensible that a girl who’d grown up in such a stark, parched environment had been so full of live and color herself.

But of course in the end that had all been a lie, a smoke-screen pulled up by a cunning, ruthless trickster. Avonlea was right were she belonged: a place as cold and devoid of feeling as the woman herself.  
Still, he couldn’t stop himself from sighing as he twisted his hat around in his hands. “What an awful place to live is this.”

In the front of the car Dove made an affirmative noise, but when Gold finally looked up from the file in his hands Jefferson was struck by the look of both pain and fury in his eyes.  
 “Yes… well, all the more reason to get this over with as quickly as possible.”  
His tone was icy and his hands balled into such tight fists that his knuckles were turning white and not for the first time Jefferson wondered if coming to Avonlea had been such wise plan after all.

* * *

 

Her shoulders ached and her feet were killing her. Another long, gruesome day at the factory had finally come to an end and the relief she felt at finally returning home was tempered by the knowledge than in another twelve hours a new ten-hour shift awaited her.

For a few moments Belle dwelled in the still unfurnished shop she had just entered and ran her hands over the workbench. Perhaps in a month’s time she would finally be able to open up and realize her lifelong dream of reopening her mother sweet store.  
It all depended on the outcome of the Culinary Guild’s Jubilee that was to start on the next day.

Her dream was about to come true and yet she couldn’t muster the happiness or the enthusiasm to rejoice in it.

It had come at far too high a price.

Making her way to the spiral staircase at the end of the shop, Belle turned off the lights before climbing the stairs up to the one room apartment she’d lived in since her return from Hamelin. Taking off her protective poncho and stepping out of her heavy work booths she remembered with a regretful smile the dresses and heels she had favored during her apprenticeship with Gold.  
Her beloved wardrobe was now safely tucked away and pulled out only on special occasions because the grueling shifts at the factory left little use for fine clothing.

From her purse she pulled a brown paper back that contained tonight’s dinner. Even after two years she still hadn’t gotten used to the greasy, tasteless drab that passed as food in Avonlea and she often wondered if it had become even worse in her absence or that she noticed it more now because he had taught her what food was supposed to taste like and how much joy a well chosen palate of flavors could bring.

Sitting down at the table she nibbled listlessly at the food, trowing most of it away as her stomach rebelled against the artificial supplements that made up most of her dinner. Then she changed into a fresh pair of pajamas and leaned against the window frame for a few moments, gazing outside. Through the thick fog she could barely make out more than the closest sky-scrapers.  
In the far distance a horn blew, signaling beginning of the night shift and she closed her eyes, trying to picture the woods of Hamelin, the bright light of the moon and the million stars that twinkled against a velvet, dark blue sky.  If she concentrated hard enough, she could almost smell the fresh air and the crisp of the first frost, but the memory slipped away just as fleetingly and when she opened her eyes, she was once again looking at polluted pavements and stained buildings.

Closing the curtains, she made her way to the corner of her room were her bed was and before she climbed in she briefly grazed her fingers over the locket lying on her nightstand.

_“Good night, Rum… sweet dreams.”_

Once in bed she curled up into a ball and pulled the covers over her head, closing her eyes as tightly as she could, desperately wanting to escape to the place were her dreams and memories of happier times dwelled.  
Memories of scent and flavor, of fresh air and sunlight, of color and of warmth.  
 Of arms enveloping her and holding her close.

* * *

 

_She woke up to the scent of sandalwood, chocolate and something ineffable musky and masculine that she associated immediately with him.  She was lying on her side, his body pressed against her back, his arms protectively around her waist, holding her close, their feet intwined, his head resting on top of hers._  
_She felt him stir behind her, groaning softly as he was waking up and she stretched against him, pressing herself closer._

_He growled in her ear, his lips ghosting over her jaw and neck, until she turned her head and captured his lips with her own. They kissed for a while, leisurely at first and when she pulled back for a moment the soft look of wonder and admiration in his eyes made her heart ache._  
_Reaching out, she grasped the back of his head and pulled him down for another kiss that quickly turned more heated and passionate, until the touch of his fingers, tracing slow, tantalizing patterns across her belly and breasts became too much and she moaned into his mouth, moving to roll over._

_He stopped her attempt with a gentle hand on her hip, his lips returning to the spot behind her ear, kissing and licking her there until she signed.  His hand slid to her thigh and he carefully moved her leg a little to create more room for him._  
_Suddenly she caught on to what he was up to and she gasped in pleasure, heat flooding her as she felt his hard length against her backside._

_“Like this, sweetheart?” The low rumble of his voice in her ear was both a suggestion and a question and she nodded eagerly, wriggling her hips against him._

_“Oh yes…” Her soft words ended in a prolonged moan as he slipped inside her, his hands resuming their teasing touches._

_Still huddled underneath the warm duvets, wrapped up in their own little cocoon, she felt safe, cared for and incredibly desired like this. This position didn’t allow her much space to move, except for arching into every one of his slow thrusts, especially when his fingers found her most intimate place._

_As he stroked and fondled her, bringing her higher and higher, while he continued to taste the tender skin of her neck, she almost sobbed with the sweet torture of it and eventually clenching around him, she felt his movements behind her growing more erratic until he followed her over the edge._

_He held and stroked her for a long time afterwards, slowly bringing her down from her peak, still gently bathing her neck and shoulder with kisses._  
_Eventually she did turn around and sprawled over his chest, brushing his hair away from his sweaty forehead and stroking his face, her heart almost bursting with love for him._

_“You’re so wonderful,” she told him seriously, running her hands through his hair. “You are so, so amazing.”_

_His arms wrapped around her once again and he gazed up at her as if he still couldn’t believe she was real. Then he threaded his fingers through her mass of curls and pulled her head down._  
_“My beautiful Belle,” he murmured softly against her lips before claiming them with his own._

* * *

 

 “I cannot believe you’re starting this all over again,” the big, square-jawed man grumbled angrily as he continued to pry at the lock of a container cargo on a dark and desolate storage area.

“We’re almost there… everything is brought into motion,” a woman dressed in a black cloak answered. “This time we will succeed.”

“That’s what you said last time,” the man replied derisively. “Meanwhile Rum Gold is still the most acclaimed chocolatier in all the lands and that little twit is only months away from opening up her own shop.

“Gold has been out of business for over a year because of our interference,” the woman reminded him. “His return is just a temporarily fluke. We will destroy him this time. And the girl along with him.”

Finally the lock gave away and the man opened the door to the container, holding up a flashlight to create some light.  
 “Cosy,” he commented sarcastically.

“I’ll take your word for it,” the woman replied with a small laugh, her milky white, empty eyes turning towards him.  

“This is were will finally settle our business with Gold for once and for all.”

* * *

 

The hotel he’d booked for his stay in Avonlea was advertised to be the finest of the city and his room among the best the hotel had to offer.

In truth the room was cold and sparsely furnished. The bed was hard and uncomfortable, the grayish sheets stark and unyielding.

 Sitting down at the edge of the bed, Rum Gold buried his face in his hands and took a few deep breaths to dissipate the nauseating feeling of homesickness that washed over him and the almost irresistible urge to put his traveler’s cloak back on and return to Hamelin straight away.  
As much as he dreaded the upcoming event, he was determined to see it through, to finally face the demons of the last twenty-five years and the last two years in particular before he went mad from the heartache of it all.

After this trip he would be able to but it all behind him, to put _her_ behind him and concentrate solely on his son and on his factory.  
Once the Jubilee was over and he’d had the fill of his revenge against the woman who had single-handedly tried to destroy his factory and managed to ruin him in the process, he would finally feel less cheated, less torn. He would finally be able to let go.

He would take from her what she had taken from him, just as irrevocably and painfully.

Rising from foot end of the bed with some difficulty, he opened the suitcase lying behind him and took out a small, blue-patterned porcelain cup. Clutching it in his hand he leaned heavily on the cane in his other and made his way to the small table in front of the window, placing the cup in the middle.

Across the rim a noticeable chip was missing and he ran his finger carefully across it, the sharp edges cutting into his skin.

Suppressing the memories of her laughter and the warm feel of her body, he focussed on what the cup really showed him: sharp edges and the ability to cut and mar. Because no matter how beautiful and whole it may once have been, it was now utterly broken and useless.

He’d come to Avonlea to finish his business with Belle French once and for all.


	2. Chapter 2

_Two and a half years prior…_

The knock on her door was soft and hesitant and Belle let out a quiet sigh as she called for admittance, knowing full well who it was.  Her father entered her room carefully, looking rater dejectedly at the worn-out brown suitcase that was on her bed, the straps tied up securely.   
“You’re all packed then?”

“I am,” she replied, attempting to sound cheerful. Next to the suitcase was a rather seizable handbag that weighted more than her entire suitcase. “I packed eleven books… I hope it’ll be enough.”

Her father gave a slight, rather mournful smile. “I fear Mr. Gold might not allow you much time for reading, my dear.”

“I should hope not,” she answered with a bit of cheek. “There’s so much to learn from him that I will be extremely disappointed if I find myself with too much time to read on my hands.”

“Belle…” her father started with some trepidation, and Belle braced herself inwardly, fully expecting the words that followed.   
“You don’t have to do this… you don’t have to go to Hamelin.”

“Father, it’s not something I have to do… it’s something I want to…” Taking a few steps forward, Belle grasped her father’s hand between her own. “I know Mr. Gold has quite the reputation, but he’s the best in the branch… with everything he’ll teach me, I’ll know how to save the business once I get back.”

“But if you just were to marry Gaston…” her father pleaded. “He’ll know how to fix it… he has quite marvelous ideas…”

Belle pursed her lips in an attempt to keep quiet on what she actually thought of Gaston’s ‘marvelous ideas’. As far as she was concerned, their family business had been steadily going downhill ever since her former finance had begun to cajole her father into his plans. These days she barely recognized the fast-food giant that had become her father’s company from the magical store it had been when her mother had still been alive.  

“Gaston and I aren’t right for each other,” she replied instead. “ _‘French Fries_ ’ will become a healthy enterprise again - inwardly she cringed at the double-entendre of her words - even without him.”   
_‘Especially without him._ ’ she added mentally.

“And you really think that this apprenticeship with Mr. Gold is going to accomplish that?” her father asked doubtfully.

“Like I said, he’s the best in the branch,” Belle replied confidently. “He’s the single most renowned chocolatier in the world. And I’m very grateful he’s allowing me to work with him for a while.”

“Only because The Guild pressured him into it,” her father remarked grudgingly. “The man is a recluse, Belle. They say he doesn’t talk to anyone.”

“Well, you always say I talk for two,” Belle grinned. “And whatever his motives are for taking me on, I insist to be grateful for the opportunity.”

“Please reconsider,” her father all but begged in a last attempt. “Gaston will gladly take you back, I’m sure of it. You wouldn’t have to leave Avonlea, it’s a much simpler solution. If you were to just listen to Gaston…”

“I did plenty of that last night,” Belle answered rather curtly, a hint of annoyance slipping into her voice. “He gave quite a lengthy speech on how he envisioned our future together. And I’m sorry to say it, but I found it to be a rather daunting one…”

“Belle… he’s the only one that can save us…he has the money, the connections… ”   
The anguish on her father’s face almost made her gave in, but the memory of the possessive glint in Gaston’s eyes the previous night and the feeling of dread that had filled her as she’d listened to him prattle on about the sons she was to bear him and the duties she’d had to fulfill as his wife made her steel her will.

“Father, please don’t ask this of me,” she asked urgently. “I will find a way… but on my own terms.”

Her father’s shoulders slumped resignedly. “Very well then… if you are certain. I’ll take you to the station.”

* * *

 

They’d agreed to keep their goodbye brief, her father wasn’t going to take her to the platform. Still, saying goodbye to him was a rather sad, teary event, but once Belle entered Avonlea’s Station, the melancholy she’d been feeling previously evaporated and gave way to a tinge of excitement.    
One way or the other, she was going on the adventure she’d always longed for.

She still had a good twenty minutes before her train was to depart and she sat down on one of the narrow, metal benches, her suitcase at her feet next to her, her handbag in her lap. Opening it, she pulled out the first of the novel’s she’d brought and opened it with some difficulty. The pages were hard and stiff, mostly fabricated out a sort of synthetic fiber instead of actual paper and its cover was stark and unbending. She only managed to open the book by breaking its spine with a dull crack.

The station had no windows, save from a few fanlights near the ceiling. The hall was illuminated by a bright, cold light, giving off an almost blueish hue. Although it was all right for reading, Belle looked longingly at the small windows of the fanlight, trying to catch a glimpse of the sky. From what she could see the sky was grey, only marginally lighter than the granite paint of the high walls.    
She coughed, bringing her hand up to over her mouth to muzzle the sound, hearing it echoed by the quiet coughs of other people

Over her navy-blue skirt and white blouse she was wearing the grey poncho that had become the unwritten dress-code of Avonlea, for anyone who dared to go outside. The smog and soot residue that cloaked the streets and outside area’s of Avonlea managed to seep through every cranny and split, soiling everything it touched, clogging everyone’s lungs and leaving Belle’s throat feeling dry and raw.

Finally a metallic voice through speakers on the wall informed her that her train had arrived at the platform and was ready to depart in fifteen minutes. Jumping to her feet eagerly, she stuffed her book back into her bag and grabbed the handle of her suitcase, dragging it along with her to the platform.   
The train, a silvery grey, dull monstrosity was waiting for her at the platform and after showing her ticket to a uniformed conductor, she deposited her suitcase on the luggage rack and entered the compartment to find herself a seat.  

To her chagrin, most of the windows were tinted, plastered with some kind of semi-translucent cover. She marched through several compartments until she finally found a window were some of the cover had been ripped, enabling her to look outside undeterred and she gratefully sank down in the seat.

* * *

 

As the train rolled outside the station, she peered outside, taking in the view. For the first hour of her journey, the train drove through the city of Avonlea, but even though it was around noon, hardly any people were outside. The sky was lead grey and heavy, impenetrable clouds completely hiding the tops of the tall skyscrapers from view.

As she gazed outside, Belle couldn’t fight down the hint of depression that overtook her at the sight of the monotone, washed out surroundings that swept by.  There were factories, skyscrapers, tall chimneys and gigantic warehouses as far as her gaze could reach.

Perhaps Avonlea had always been meant to be industrial. Traditionally, most of its wealth and prosperity was gained from the profit of the ore mines. However most of the supply was exported to other cities and kingdoms and only one factory inside Avonlea processed the ore into metal which was then fabricated into various utensils.  It was small-scaled and simple and Belle vaguely remembered that Avonlea in those days, although being only a very young girl herself then.   
 The ore factory had been the pride of the city, the center of their realm. But there had been so much more to the city in those days as well. She remembered the vast green pastures and the small farms. The city center of Avonlea, with it’s endless variety of houses, shops and small workplaces. The city square with the blacksmith and ‘ _The Game of Thorns_ ’, Avonlea’s most renewed pub, everything just the usual hustle and bustle of a small, lively city.

But most of all, she remembered her parent’s shop, the colorful window display, the sweet, tantalizing scent that waffled through the door that was always open and the high shelves, filled to the brim with sweets, candy, lollipops, acid drops, candy canes, marshmallows, gummies, fudge, nougat, candy bars and caramel in bright, shiny wrappers.

She remembered, but she’d forgotten the taste, her mouth now dry and bland.

The industrial transformation had come to Avonlea twenty years prior. It had started with a single steam engine acquired by the factory to ease some of the hard manual labour needed to withdraw the metal from the ore.  The infusion of the steam engine made the entire process so much easier that production increased tenfold.   
 With the expanded production, the export rose and soon Avonlea’s metal and assorted products was in high demand. More steam engines were purchased and another factory was build.

And then another.   
And another.

 Around these factories tall buildings, scraping the sky, rose, filled with offices that negotiated export, deals, mergers and up-scales. The mines expanded as well, slowly eating away the meadows and swallowing up the farms, turning farmers into miners. More miners were imported from abroad and housed in cubic, thirty-story apartment-complexes.

The mines withdrew the ore from the earth, the factories roared with activity and the chimney’s smoked day and night, slowly filling the air around Avonlea with smog and soot until the city was enfolded in a permanent grew fog, drowning out every color and every fresh breath.

* * *

 

 It wasn’t until several hours after the train had left Avonlea that the smog finally began to clear and Belle gasped as she took in the new view from the circular tear in the covering.  The train was riding through a large forest and she realized with a start that it must be autumn because the leaves on the trees were showing a spectacular array of colors: red, orange, gold, brown, yellow and ochre.   
It was most likely going to rain soon, because the sky was clouded and dark, but somehow this set off the vibrant colors even better. It was magnificent and Belle gazed, barely able to draw breath, her nose almost pressed against the window, so to not miss a single sight through the small tear in the cover.

It was another two hours before she reached the small station of Hamelin which consisted of little more than two outside platforms and a small building that held the waiting room and the station master’s office.   
She was already at the doors before the train came to a full stop, clutching her suitcase and handbag. At long last the doors slid open and she all but stumbled outside almost tripping over her own feet in her rush to take in her surroundings fully.

It was late afternoon and near the horizon the first signs of dusk were already noticable. A cold wind blew from the forest, blazing strands of hair around her face and the first, cold drops of rain fell down from the heavy, dark clouds.

Belle didn’t care. Dropping her bags, she stood on the platform, breathing in deeply, filling her lungs with clean, fresh air. Tilting her head back she let the rain fall on her face.

It might be cold and she might get drenched within seconds, but it didn’t matter.   
The water was clean and perfect and she felt the drops trickle down her face and neck, into the collar of her grey poncho.   
Opening her eyes wide, a whoop of laughter escaped her throat and spreading her arms out, she twirled around in the wind, clean air and rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, Gold will make an appearance in the next chapter ;) Also, there's a Pinterest board matched to this chapter. Look for MissPuppet on Pinterest and you should be able to find it easily.


	3. Chapter 3

“Excuse me, are you Miss French?”

Startled, Belle turned around and looked up to the voice addressing her. The man standing behind her required quite some looking up to, he was almost twice as tall as she was. He was also impeccably dressed in a rather old-fashioned, black velvet uniform and cap.

“I am…” she replied, gathering her bearings and smiling warmly at the man, offering her hand. “Belle French, pleased to meet you Mr…”

“Dove,” he replied, giving her a short, firm handshake. “Just Dove. I work for Mr. Gold. If you would follow me, please…”  
Reaching down he picked up her suitcase and bag as if they were mere pillows and strode off the platform, Belle almost jogging along behind him to keep up. Which wasn’t a small feat in the navy blue velvet heels she was wearing.

Dove led her from the platform, through the waiting room to a most bizarre looking vehicle. It was a car, she could tell that much, but the most unusual one she’d ever seen. It was tall, had a lovely brown rusty, copper color, double lights, large wheels and a rather complicated looking system of cogwheels covering the hood, sides and doors.

“Miss…” Dove prompted her gently because she’d stopped in her tracks and was staring at the car with open mouth.

“Amazing!” she breathed quietly, slowly circling the car, trying to take in every detail. “Where on earth do they make cars like this?”   
She looked at Dove expectantly, surprised to see the big man flushing pink at her question.

“Well… in this case… it was me, Miss…” he stammered awkwardly.

“You _made_ this?” she repeated in awe. “It’s beautiful!”

Her words set the poor man’s ears aflame, but he relaxed a little when she smiled at him again. “Are you ready for the drive to the house, Miss?”

She could barely stop herself from squealing in excitement, but nodded eagerly, her head bobbing.   
“Oh yes!.”

Dove gave her a tiny, amused smirk and strode over to the car, unlocking the door to the driver’s seat. “One moment, Miss…”

He sat down behind the control panel and pressed a few buttons. Immediately the cogwheels started turning and rattling and moments later the trunk and the door to the backseat opened.   
Emerging from the car again, he walked over to where he had deposited her suitcase and handbag with a bit of a spring in his step before lifting the luggage and placing it in the trunk. Then he indicated the backseat with a small flourish of his hand.   
 “Make yourself comfortable, Miss!”

Unable to squash down the giggle, Belle brushed past him and settled down in the comfortable, leather cushions of the seat, watching intently as Dove sat down in the front seat again and automatically closed the doors. Craning her neck and trying to peer around him. Belle noticed that the car didn’t have a steering wheel, just an intricate system of buttons, little silver handles and gauges.

He seemed to be able to operate them flawlessly because seconds later the car’s engine sprung into life with a small whoosh and the car rolled away effortlessly with a soft, humming sound.   
Reclining against the soft cushions, Belle looked outside the large windows, relishing the opportunity to be able to look as far and as much as she pleased. It was raining rather heavily again and Dove turned the car into a curved road, heading straight into the forest.

“It’s a two-hour drive to the house, Miss,” he told her. “We’ll have to go through Salem’s Woods to get there.”

“All right,” Belle replied cheerfully, happy to able to gawk at nature some more.   
Salem’s Woods consisted mostly of pine trees in all sizes and shapes and all kinds of colors green, contrasting beautifully against the pearly grey sky.   
Belle was used to grey skies and clouds, having seen little else for most of her life, but this was different. The storm raging high in skies brought about the most unusual displays of light, turning from velvety dark to flashes of copper-colored lightness. She only wished she could ask Dove to turn down the windows so she could inhale the fresh air and the smell of rain once again.

* * *

 

After about an hour into the woods, Belle suddenly spotted something dark and hunched at the side of the road and she sat up straight in her seat as the car approached it, trying to make out what it was. Just as they drove past it, it clicked in her mind and she cried out. “Dove! Please stop the car!”

The man in front of her reacted on reflex and the car came to a screeching halt. “Miss?” he asked bewildered.

“There’s someone lying at the side of the road,” she explained hurriedly, trying to figure out how to open the door from the inside out. “He or she could be hurt.”

Dove opened the door for her and Belle bolted out of the car, sprinting in the direction of the huddled figure. Upon coming closer, she realized it was a woman, dressed in a black cloak, not much taller than herself. She was kneeling at the side of the road, thin, spindly fingers grasping her knee through the many layers of her black skirt, her face hidden by a hood.

“Ma’am…” Belle tried hesitantly, carefully approaching the woman. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

Behind her she could her the sound of snapping twigs and realized that Dove was right behind her. The woman turned her head around, the hood falling down and revealing ash-blond hair, streaked with grey, done up in a bun, a pale face engraved with lines and blurry, milky-white eyes.

With a jolt, Belle realized the woman was blind.

“I fell…” The woman answered, her voice high and somewhat wheezy. “The roads are slippery in this weather. I hurt my knee.”

“Here, let me help you up,” Belle offered, her voice warm with sympathy, carefully taking the woman’s hand in her own, wrapping her other arm around her shoulder. “Are you able to stand on your leg?”

Experimentally, the woman shifted some of her weight to her injured leg. She let out a small hiss of pain, but found her balance after a few moments.  “I can stand on it, but I don’t think I’ll be able to walk back to my cottage,” she whimpered.

“That won’t be necessary,” Belle reassured her. “We’ll be happy to take you there.” She looked back at Dove who looked apprehensive for a moment, but gave a small nod then. Moments later, the woman was seated inside the car and had given Dove directions to her home.

Once the car was driving again, the woman turned her face towards Belle’s, her eyes still blurry and unfocused, but her head titled in a way that made it perfectly clear that all her attention was on her. “You’re not from around here, are you, my dear?” she asked.

“No, I come from Avonlea,” Belle replied, trying to look somewhere else than into the ruined eyes.

“Avonlea… the city of wondrous progress…” the woman said thoughtfully. “What brings a girl like you to Hamelin then?”

“I’m Mr. Gold’s apprentice for the next couple of months,” Belle explained, feeling a nervous flutter in her stomach as she suddenly remembered the original destination of her journey.

“Mr Gold…” the woman cooed in a light voice. “The most famous chocolatier in the world… some even say he works magic in that factory of his. You are a very lucky girl.”

“Do you know Mr. Gold?” Belle asked eagerly.

“I dare to wager nobody really does…” the woman answered enigmatically. “They say he’s a genius and I’m sure that he is… hard to get to know someone like that indeed.”

“I guess so…” Belle agreed, her stomach turning into knots now. So far everyone she’d spoken to had stressed to her that Mr. Gold was a difficult, seclusive man and not for the first time she wondered what it would be like to work for him and if they would get along at all.

“How come you’re so interested in the process of making confectionery?” the woman asked, the tone of her voice belying her curiosity.

“Back in Avonlea, my father is in the food business,” Belle told her. “It used to be a sweetshop once, but now it’s turned into a food company. One that is failing, I’m afraid.”

“And you think chocolate will be the answer to your troubles?” the woman asked.

“I certainly hope so,” Belle replied, forcing herself to sound optimistically. “At any rate I hope to learn a lot from Mr. Gold.”

“Oh yes dear, there’s a lot to gain from Mr. Gold,” the woman told her with a little smile. Belle frowned a little at the comment, but just as she was about to reply, Dove rather forcefully brought the car to a hold, looking at her pointedly thought the round rear-view mirror.

The car had stopped in front of a wooden gate, a cobbled path leading up a small cottage with a high, circular, pointed roof, divided in several parts. \

“Your looks house lovely,” Belle spoke, suddenly eager to divert the attention from Mr. Gold.

“I’m sure it does, dear,” the woman replied with a hint acid in her voice. “But thank you both for bringing me home.”

“You’re welcome,” Belle replied quietly. Dove made no reply, but opened the door with a rather forceful jab at the button. The woman slowly slid off her seat and took a few hesitant steps, groping in front of her until they came in contact with the gate. Once she was through, Dove started the car again and drove away with considerable speed.

For a long while neither of them spoke a word, until Dove broke the silence. “Better not mention this to anyone, Miss”

“Was I wrong to offer to take her home?” Belle asked doubtfully. Dove met her gaze through the circular mirror in front of him.   
“I don’t think so,” he said pensively. “It was a very kind thing to do. But I wonder… Like I said, Miss… don’t mention it to anyone.”

“I won’t,” she promised softly.

* * *

 

Night fell and after driving for half an hour more the car turned a rather sharp corner and in front of them appeared an enormous house, dark but beautiful all the same. There was a large driveway leading up to it, starting with a high, iron fence. The fence circled around the entire property and its iron was artfully wrought in all kinds of shapes and forms, but in the dark, Belle had a little trouble deciphering the figures.

The house was tall, at least five stories high. The middle part was sturdy with tall pillars, high windows and a robust front. But from there on the house appeared to spiral out of control. There were porches on either side of the entrance doors with balconies above them. The upper floors consisted of a dozen small towers, french windows and shutters. The house was build out of dark brown brick and finished of with dark wood, almost black panelling, but in the pale light of the moon, Belle still thought it was stunning.

“Welcome to the dark castle,” Dove said with a grin.

“The dark castle… really?” she snickered back.

“Just don’t let Mr. Gold hear you refer to it as such,” he answered conspiringly.

“Will I meet him tonight, you think?” Belle asked, her insides clenching nervously once again.

“I dare say you will,” the large man answered calmly.   
Dove drove on until he stopped the car in front of the entrance doors and opened the door for her. Scrambling out of the car, Belle took a few moments to stretch her stiff and wary limbs and then breathed deeply to steady herself. Her lungs filled with the cool, brisk air of the night and she could smell the rain, calming her rattled nerves somewhat.

“Follow me, Mr. Gold is waiting for you,” Dove told her.

Smoothening her hands down over her poncho, Belle attempted to tuck a few wayward strands behind her ears and followed the driver through the heavy oak doors. Inside the house was even more magnificent. The hardwood floors were laid in mosaic patterns, the walls smooth and painted in a deep petal-pink color that softened the dark exterior and made it warm and inviting.

As Dove led her deeper inside she passed several glass-stained doors and itched to explore what was behind them. Eventually he stopped in front of a set of double doors and knocked. From inside a deep burr of a voice replied. “Enter!”

Steeling her nerves and standing as tall as she could, Belle stepped inside behind Dove, her eyes immediately fixing on the man sitting behind a rather enormous mahogany desk.

The man rose the second they entered and Belle noticed several things at once. He wasn’t much taller than she was. He leaned on an exquisite cane and as he rounded the desk, she saw he limped rather noticeably. He had shoulder-length, brown hair, streaked with grey at the temples and was dressed in brown leather trousers, a white blouse and a brocade waistcoat. He looked unusual, unlike anyone she’d met before, but impeccable dressed at the same time.

His eyes were of the deepest brown, _like dark chocolate_ , she thought fleetingly with a hint of amusement and he had the most intense stare she’d ever seen.

“Mr Gold, this is Miss Belle French, your new apprentice,” Dove announced her formally.

Smiling widely at him, Belle extended her hand once again, expecting him to take it as he came nearer. But instead he stopped a few feet away from her, his nostrils crinkling. He inhaled sharply and then recoiled as if he’d been struck.

“What on earth are you wearing?” he spat, his face shriveling up in disgust.

“I - oh… “ She stammered, taken aback by his reaction. “It’s a poncho… rather common in…”

“Not _that_!” he snapped, waving his hands impatiently. “Your scent… what are you wearing?”

“Perfume…” she answered, rather dumbfounded, blinking at him.

“Well, wash it off at once and never put on something so atrocious in my presence again!” His voice was nothing more than a snarl as he stalked passed her out of the room, slamming the door behind him for good measure.

Shaking and completely taken aback, Belle turned towards Dove, tears stinging her eyes.   
“What was that about?” she stammered breathlessly.

Dove appeared mostly unperturbed. “He’s a bit peculiar about scents. I should have worn you about that, Miss. Why don’t you follow me upstairs and I’ll show you to your room? You can have a nice, long soak in the bathtub.”

Despite the other man’s reassuring smile, Belle felt her stomach knot up even further. What on earth had she gotten herself into?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've watched some very interesting and crazy DIY chocolate making vids on YouTube for this...

After a good night’s rest and a long soak in the spacious bathtub, Belle felt a lot more positive about her new position than the night before. She might have made a horrible first impression on her employer, but there was always a second chance.

The night before Dove had shown her to a lovely tower room on the fourth floor of the dark castle - she was determined to call the house like that in her mind, it was just too fitting - and it was, all things considered really a very beautiful room. There was a four poster bed with crimson, velvet drapery and a wonderful snug duvet, a small dining table with two chairs, a writing desk and - best of all - a lovely chaise lounge, right in front of the window.  
Upon first glance Belle had decided that this was to become her favorite reading spot.

The window, shaped into a point with lead glass overlooked the extensive gardens and forest behind the house and Belle spend a good fifteen minutes after awakening that first morning gazing outside, taking in the beauty of her surroundings. She dressed carefully that morning into a cream-white blouse with lace trimmings in the front and a simple, black skirt that started just underneath her bust-line. Underneath she wore shiny black stockings and black leather pumps with three decorative bands across her feet.

Dove had informed her she was supposed to have her meals in her room and so far that had been the only part of her new situation she disliked, feeling it would be dreadfully lonely after a few days to have no-one to talk while she ate.

At eight thirty sharp she knocked on the door of Mr. Gold’s study, ready to start the day and change the man’s opinion of her. At his call for admittance she squared her shoulders and stepped in, greeting him with a wide smile.  
“Good morning, Mr. Gold.”

He was standing in front of a large bookcase across from his desk and for a moment she was distracted, trying to read the titles on the back of the books.    
“Miss French,” he stated, his voice carefully collected.

Today he was once again clad in leather pants, black this time, a white shirt with a stiff board and a rather elaborate waistcoat with brown and golden patterns and black lapels. He studied her for a moment and just as she was starting to grow uncomfortable under his gaze he indicated the door with a small gesture of his hand.  
“Shall we go to the factory?”

Upon her nod, he took a few steps closer towards her, faltering as he came nearer, his nostrils twitching. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes at him, she looked him square in the face instead and said:  
“Don’t worry, I’ve scrubbed it off as you’ve requested.”

His eyes widened at her words before he nodded stiffly. “Very well. If you are so kind as to follow me…”  
He limped out of the room, towards the hallway, leaning heavily on his cane. He led her towards the back of the house and then stopped in front of some kind of gilded cage, pressing a button. Seconds later a lift appeared and the fenced doors opened with a swoosh. He gestured for her to enter and she stepped inside, her eyes wide. 

“Mr. Gold… where exactly is your factory?” she asked. He looked at her in surprise, stepping into the elevator himself.

“Below the house of course.” Pressing another button, the lift soared down, leaving Belle with a feeling like her stomach suddenly jumped into her throat. Once the lift came to a halt, Belle found herself into a long corridor, lit with gas lamps.

“First I’ll show you the room where the chocolate is prepared,” Gold told her, his voice chipped and business-like. “Before you even start to work with chocolate, you need to know how it’s created.”

She smiled slightly at his choice of words and followed him into the hallway. They passed several wooden doors, but he barely spared them a glance.  “Storage,” was the only clarification he gave. “I always keep a vast supply of cocoa beans.”  
Then he pointed at a heavy, oak door at the end of the hall. “The steam engine is in there,” he explained brusquely. “But I warn you, Miss French, no-one is allowed to go in there except for myself and Dove.”

Nodding hurriedly, Belle followed him until he finally opened a door that revealed a large room and Belle’s eyes widened in surprise. The room was circular and enormous, alive with sound. The strangest machines and appliances she’d ever seen filled the room and there was bustling and clattering everywhere. Employers, wearing dark-green aprons fitted through the room, operating the machines, carrying trays and buckets and regularly checking the hourglasses that were connected to every appliance.

“It starts here,” he began, leading her to the side of the room towards a gigantic stove. The surface of it was almost ten to seven feet with large, brass pans on them. Belle watched how one of the employees filled the pans with cacao beans, flipped an hour-glass and lit the fires. Then, taking a spatula he turned the beans rhythmically as they heated up. After fifteen minutes or so, all the sand had transpired through the hour-glass and the air around the stove was filled with rich scent of roasted cacao beans. Next to her, Gold inhaled deeply.  
“Just right,” he murmured quietly. “Remind me to tell Jefferson we’ve finally discovered the exact time this particular brand of beans need to roast.”

“Yes sir,” she replied dutifully, wondering who Jefferson was and regretting to step away from the lovely smell as Gold moved her along to the next device. It consisted of a large, copper ball on a tall, ornate pedestal, with two wheels with handles connected to it. The handles in turn were connected to a series of cogwheels that were attached to a stirling engine.    
The cacao beans that had previously been roasted were now loaded into the copper ball by a different employee and he too turned an hour glass before activating the engine. A harsh, grating sound started that only faded slightly as the minutes wore on.

“What’s happening?” Belle asked curiously.

“This is how we get rid of the shells surrounding the beans,” Gold explained, his voice slightly raised over the sound of the grinder. “It’s the nibs you actually use to make chocolate.”

Ten minutes later, the crusty, broken remains of the roasted cacao beans were taken out of the ball and carried over to yet another appliance. A large, rusty-colored ceiling fan hung above a glass, polygonal box. Two linen hoses were attached to the top of the glass box, which in turn were connected to a set of vacuum cleaners. The glass box itself was standing on a wooden stand and as an employee opened the hatchway and placed the pulverized cacao beans inside, Gold continued to explain.  
“Now we need to separate the shells from the nibs and that’s where this is for.”

It came to no surprise this time that the employee first turned the hourglass connected to the glass box before he yanked a handle. Immediately the van started rotating with a soft swish, picking up speed as it went along. Inside the glass box the scaly shells of the cacao beans started to twirl up inside the glass box, dancing and floating, almost like dark snow. With another press to a button, the vacuum cleaners were turned on and slowly all the waste material was sucked away.

Belle watched as the nibs were taken out of the glass box and brought to a set of very large, brass scales. Several badges of clean nibs were placed on one side of the scale while a series of golden weights were put on the other scale, together with just the right amount of sugar to even out the scales.  
“You only use that much sugar?” Belle asked surprised, noticing that the amount of sugar was far less than the amount of cacao nibs.

“Never more than thirty percent,” Gold answered, obviously surprised by her question. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be fit to be labelled as chocolate, dearie.”

Belle bit her lip, feeling oddly chastised. No matter how much she had disagreed with Gaston’s method of producing food, she’d become accustomed to the amount of sugar, salt, artificial flavors and food dye he used to make the mass-fabricated dishes of ‘French Fries’ look more appealing.  
She’d been inside Gold’s factory for almost an hour now and she could already tell this was so much different from the ‘throwing of ingredients together’ she was used to, or even from the cooking her mother had done.    
This was a craft. Almost an art in its expertise.

Meanwhile, Gold was taking her to another glass device, an hourglass shaped cylinder, enclosed in a spiral staircase with a silver grinder on top. The handle of the grinder was once again connected to a Stirling engine so it could be operated.  An employee clad in green climbed the stairs, pushed the grinder up and poured the entire contents of the scales into the cylinder until it was half full. The hourglass adjourned to this device was considerable bigger than the other ones Belle had seen so far and she assumed this part of the process was more time consuming.

Next to her, Gold took a step closer and gestured for her to follow as the contents inside the glass cylinder started to swirl.  
 “Watch closely,” he told her, his voice dropping and his accent becoming more profound. “This is what it’s all about…”

Inside the cylinder, the nibs and sugar slowly mingled together until they begun to form a dark, crummy paste.  After a while the paste became smoother and started to shine, the soft yellow light of the many light bulbs hanging from the ceiling reflecting in the dark content. Belle stole a glance next to her and was immediately captivated by the sight of the man at her side.

His entire being was focussed on the process going on in front of him, his eyes slightly widened in awe as the chocolate started to form, strands of his hair falling across his temples without him noticing.  
“It took years to refine the process,” he said softly, his gaze still fully trained on the device in front of him as if he were in trance. “It takes such precision, such dedication. To many people chocolate is just a candy, a bit of sweet to brighten a rainy day, or an indulgence in a moment of weakness… but to me it’s so much more than that. It is the richest, most tranquilizing taste mother nature offers us… it can cure ailments, lift the spirit, induce passion…” his voice trailed off and Belle felt a little flutter of something - something she couldn’t yet identity settle in her stomach.

“I’ve watched this process countless of times,” he continued, his dark brown eyes pensive, “but I never tire of it. It makes me forget…”

“Forget what?” Belle asked breathlessly, her heartbeat picking up.

“I…” He blinked, startled out of his reverie and for a second he looked disconcerted, as if he had revealed more than he’d intended to. Then his posture became more straight, his expression turning flippant.

“Well, I guess it worked.”

Belle laughed, his sudden quip taking her pleasantly by surprise. He stared at her for a moment, slightly shocked as if he was truly seeing her for the first time. Then he firmly fixed his eyes on the hourglass, his voice turning brisk and business-like again.   
“Almost done now, a few more steps and then we have real chocolate.”

And Belle was under the distinct impression he was very much trying to change the subject.

* * *

 

For the next step, he showed her a large, stone bowl with a golden, robotic arm attached to it, a stamper clenched in its hand.  The chocolate paste was transferred from he cylinder into the bowl and then paste was milled once again in slow, circular movements.  
“This is done to release the taste molecules,” Gold explained. “It’s a rather delicate process… If the chocolate is handled for too long, the taste will go bitter.

“Which is why there’s an hourglass to keep track of the time,” Belle caught on. “I’ve noticed that there’re a lot of them around.”

“Timing is everything, Miss French,” he replied cautionary. “Some parts of the process are reversible, like the tempering that you will witness in a moment, other stages require more subtlety, otherwise an entire badge will be rendered spoiled.”

For the tempering, the chocolate paste, now shiny and of rather solid substance was spread out on a large, marble plate. An impressive system, mobilized by cogwheels covered the plate and operated a set of flat trowels that methodically scooped up the chocolate and turned it over until it became solid. It was a fascinating process and even though it had taken over two hours, Belle had thoroughly enjoyed the tour, excitement beginning to pump though her veins as she began to realize that this apprenticeship might be exactly everything she’d hoped for.

As the freshly made chocolate was resting, Gold implored her to follow him up a set of staircases at the side of the room, leading up to a balcony that went all the way across the circular room. It wasn’t until she was upstairs and got a full view of the surface of the factory that she realized how all the different machines in fact formed a whole. 

In the center of the room, engraved in the floor was an enormous clock, it’s golden arrows slowly but steadily ticking on in the warm light of the room. Attached to the large arrow was an oval mirror that reflected the hourglass of the appliance currently operating. Belle watched how the arrow moved on and how the image in the mirror shifted from the hourglass connected to the stove to that of the grinder used to separate the shelves from the nibs. It was all connected and working together like a big, well-oiled machine.

She turned towards Gold, her eyes beaming. “It looks amazing,” she told him sincerely. “I’ve never seen anything like this… it’s almost magical…”

He stared back at her, his eyes round in surprise, put a slightly pleased smile appearing around his lips.  “Well, I’m glad you approve, Miss French,” he replied, the derisiveness of his tone tempered by the small tremor in his voice.  
“Until further notice, you will work here and familiarize yourself with the process of chocolate making.”

An employee came up the stairs, carrying a plate with a large chunk of the chocolate Belle had just watched being made.  Gold took the chocolate from the plate and broke it in two, offering one part to Belle.  
“Make sure the chocolate always meets my standard, Miss French,” he told her severely before turning around and stalking away.

Belle watched him depart, feeling even more conflicted about him than she had the previous night.  
Then she bit a small bite off the chocolate he’d given her and closed her eyes immediately at the sensation that washed over her taste buds. It was warm and rich and utterly tranquilizing.

Just like he’d described it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're not craving chocolate by know I judge you.


	5. Chapter 5

Life at the mansion was surprisingly easy to grow used to. The work at the factory was demanding and more taxing than she’d first thought it would be, but within days, Belle grew to love the place and threw herself into the work.  She familiarized herself with every single appliance in the room, learned how to operate them and soon the process of chocolate revealed even more of it’s interesting details to her.   
Just like her employer, she became fascinated by the way the chocolate nibs and sugar swirled inside the glass cylinder, slowly turning into the rich, smooth paste that she began to appreciate more with each day that passed, discovering that she had a preference for the rather dark kind of chocolate that had only ten percent sugar in it.

After two weeks she no longer needed to watch the hourglasses to see if the stage of the process was yet finished or not, only a glance at the contents of the appliance enough to tell her if the chocolate was ready to meet Mr. Gold’s high standards. This newly developed skill turned out to be very useful when, one morning, an employee forgot to turn the hourglass on the grinder that was used to release the taste molecules. By the time the young man, only hired a week after her own arrival had realized his mistake, he was unable to tell how long the chocolate had been inside the stone bowl and if its contents were already spoiled or not. One of the senior employees had simply ordered that the batch should be disposed off, but she’d stepped up and asked for the chance to try and save it, accepting full responsibility for the outcome.

Scrutinizing the structure of the chocolate intensely, drawing from memory what it was supposed to look like, she allowed the grinder to continue for another two minutes before pulling the handle down. It looked perfect and she was almost certain that it was.   
“It should be all right like this,” she’d told the gathered employees, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “Let’s have it tempered.”

The tempering process and cooling period that followed took another hour and by then Mr. Gold had been informed of the mishap. The young employee was send up to his study, his face pale with dread and about fifteen minutes later the chocolatier himself came thundering down into factory, his cane furiously thumping on the floor with each aggravated step he took, his face set in a grim, furious line.   
“What the blazes were you thinking?” he snarled at her furiously, his teeth bare.

“The grinding wasn’t completed by the time the error was discovered,” she told him, forcing herself to sound calm. “It only needed a few more minutes.”

“And you could tell that from just looking at it?” he spat, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice firm. “Well, I also keep track of the clock a lot.”

The clock had become her anchor point in the past fortnight and she found herself checking it every few minutes out of reflex now.

“I believe I made it very clear, Miss French, that the grinding is a very delicate process and that timing is everything,” his tone was biting. “The batch was lost and should have been disposed off. Then the grinder would have to be purged, so the next batch won’t get contaminated as well. Because of your foolish insistence, now the tempering device needs to be purged as well, which means we’ll lose half a day of production.”

“The batch looked fine to me,” she defended herself. “If I’m wrong, I’m wrong and I’m sorry. But it seemed like a waste to destroy perfectly good chocolate.”

At that precise moment the now cooled chocolate was brought up and Gold glared at it like it was poison.

“Well, Miss French,” his voice was still relentless. “We’ll find out soon enough how good your ‘looks’ are.”

In any other circumstance the little play on words would have made her grin, but at that moment, her stomach had been a knot of nerves and anxiety. If she was wrong, she would have permanently destroyed any chance of gaining his good opinion of her and she’d be back on the train to Avonlea within an hour.   
Grudgingly he brought the piece of chocolate to his mouth, the lines in his face tight with apprehension.  

She’d watched intently as he slowly sniffled it and darted out the tip of his tongue to get a first taste. By the time he put the chocolate into his mouth, she realized she’d stopped breathing and she took a shaky gulp of air. His eyes closed as he slowly sucked and then chewed on the chocolate and after what felt like a lifetime he finally swallowed. Only then he opened his eyes again, his eyes filled with wonder.

“Perfect,” he managed eventually.

She’d let out a trembling breath at his verdict, her insides finally unclenching and a small thrill cursing through her. She’d gotten it right. She could actually do this.

“You knew from just looking at the chocolate?” Gold asked intrigued, his eyes studying her carefully.

“Yes…” She was unable to look away from his gaze and she noted vaguely that his dark brown eyes had specs of gold in them. “I’m not sure if I can explain it, but I did.”

“It seems that you’re very perceptive, Miss French,” he said at long last, his voice much quieter now, the compliment both startling and pleasing her.

* * *

 

Ever since she’d start working for Mr. Gold, she slept better than she had in a very long time, usually falling asleep right when her head hit the pillows, contentedly tired after a day’s work. Her four poster bed was soft and comfortable and even though it was only October and still cold outside she slept with her window half open, relishing in the fresh air that waved inside, the soft breeze and the unobstructed view of the moon.  

One morning, two days after the incident with the grinder, she woke early to the sound of the winds rustling through the top of the trees, the forlorn hooting of an owl in a tree nearby and in the far distant the sound of a wolf howling.    
She bounced up in bed, suddenly wide awake and with an irrepressible desire to go outside. Jumping out of bed, she donned a pair of beige trousers, a warm, velvet coat lined with wool, deep purple in color and her favorite walking boots and quietly left her room.

 Creeping downstairs, careful not to make any noise and alert the household staff, she made her way down to the back of the house. The french doors leading to the back gardens weren’t far from the lift to the factory and she prayed the doors wouldn’t be closed. Gingerly trying the handle, she inwardly cheered with excitement when the door gave way.

Stepping outside, she took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the crisp night’s air and then she just ran. She ran over the grass, past a fountains and hedgerow topiaries that looked ominous in the dark until she reached the forest and just couldn’t run anymore.  Resting her elbows on her knees, panting and sweating, she gulped for air and then laughed, the sounds clattering through stillness of the night.

More slowly she ventured into the woods, occasionally glancing behind her to make sure she could still see the light of the house. It was half past six now, and she had a solid hour to herself to explore the forest to her hearts’ content. The ground underneath her feet felt soft and crunchy and as she walked she let her hands brush the cold leaves of the bushes, the twigs of the drooping branches and the sharp needles of the pine trees, their scent filling her nose.   
Morning dew moisturized her fingertips and the breath she exhaled formed small clouds of white in front of her. Gazing east she noticed how the sky was lightening, the stars paling in the light of the upcoming sun.

She walked slowly in circles, always making sure she could decipher the house between the trees and listened to the morning concert of the birds, filling the air with their chirped songs. T  
hen, from one moment to the next, the sun peeked up from behind the horizon, coloring the sky in vibrant gold, pink, red and orange. It was breathtakingly beautiful and looking up at the sky, Belle felt her heart both bursting with happiness and aching with sadness.

The world she was living in now was a blessed relief from the stark and stifling world she’d come from. For the first time in years she could breath again, she could enjoy the outside, the colors, the scents… For the first time in years she truly felt like living again, instead of merely existing.

But at the same time, she was living on borrowed time. In a few short months she would return to Avonlea. Her responsibility lay with her parents’ legacy, with the business they’d build and she so much wished to save and return to its former glory.

As much as she already loved Hamelin and the chocolate factory, she had to return to prevent that what was left of her mother’s store was completely ruined by her former fiancee.

* * *

 

In a way, her mother had been one of the first casualties of the industrial transformation that had swept over Avonlea.  Colette French, originally a farm girl from Drury had always loved the outdoors and even as the warnings had become more urgent over the years, imploring the people of Avonlea not to venture out of doors without protective gear, the grey poncho’s and face masks, her mother had studiously waved every objection her father had made away and continued on, going out as often as possible, never bothering with protection.

In the winter when Belle turned seventeen, Colette developed a nasty cough, something she attributed to a persistent cold and didn’t take much notice off.  But when the summer came, the cough had progressed to a constant wheezing sound, leaving her exhausted and out of breath all the time and when she finally visited a doctor, she was diagnosed with acute lung pollution, caused by the heavy smog that now hung permanently over the city.   
There had been no cure, barely any medicine available to alleviate her suffering, lung pollution being a very new disease and not really being recognized at such.

Colette had continued to work at the sweet shop for as long as she’d been able, but only after a couple of months she’d been forced to resign, handing over full reign of the business to her husband.  For the first year or so her affliction had stabilized, and although she hated being confined indoors, she’d tried to make the most of it. She’d always been an avid reader, a passion she shared with her daughter and the both of them had spend many happy hours in the living room, pouring over their favorite stories.

But eventually the constant strain of her weakened, damaged lungs began to take their toll on her body and Belle was forced to watch helplessly as her mother aged beyond her years, her skin growing grey and withered, her once lush, chestnut curls turning dull and thin.

By the time Belle turned 20 her mother was permanently confined to her bed, often to weak and worn-out to talk, let alone to read.  So Belle read to her, every evening, distracting her mother with tales of great adventures, daring knights in shining armors, magical places and happy endings, knowing full well that her mother’s end was near and would only be a gruesome one.

Colette died a month after Belle turned twenty-one and became of age. There was no debutante ball, no formal introduction into the society of masters and manufactures of Avonlea because the harsh reality was that she and her father were up to their necks in trouble.

The sweet shop had always been her mother’s creative outlet. Colette French had possessed an eye for detail and a knack for knowing exactly what to sell and what would be a great hit. She imported sweets and ingredients from every realm and kingdom that got her fancy, occasionally even fabricating her own confections and her store had been highly popular right from the moment it had opened, a lasting spec of color and taste in a world that was increasingly growing grayer and starker.   
Her father had been well suited for running the shop on a daily basis, but he missed the cunning instinct of a business man or the creative brilliance of his wife and it was only shortly after her mother was gone that Belle realized the shop was up to its ears in debt.

Through the Culinary Guild, Maurice French came in contact with a young entrepreneur by the name of Gaston Cabot who he found willing to help out his ailing business. At first, Gaston seemed to succeed at this. He managed to struck deals with creditors and found ways to increase the profit of the store.  Maurice was deeply taken with the engaging young man and frequently invited him to his house. Likewise, Belle felt grateful towards him. Both for saving her mother’s store from failure and for making her father happy again.

It wasn’t long before Gaston took an interest in her and Belle, naive and unaccustomed to male attention had been flattered, if not a little apprehensive.  Her father however had been over the moon, not letting a single opportunity go to waste to tell her how happy he was with their budding relationship. Gaston was handsome, a self-made man of the world and he seemed hell-bound on winning her affection.   
At the time, Belle had believed herself to be in love, had believed that this was were her destiny was: with the man who had saved her parents store from bankruptcy and with whom she could continue their legacy.   
They became engaged and although from he moment they made their announcement, her father talked of a big, lavish wedding, she was a little surprised to find out that Gaston wasn’t actually that eager to set a date.  

Although she’d rather bit off her own tongue than to admit it to anyone, she wasn’t sorry about it. Despite the fact that she already belonged to Gaston in every way possible - he had claimed her body and soul as soon as she’d accepted his proposal - there was a distinctive difference between _being_ Gaston’s wife and _going_ to be his wife.

For as long as she wasn’t officially married to him, she was still her own and she was eager to prolong that for as long as possible. Their engagement dragged on for two years and in that time her initial good opinion of him became to waver.   
He increasingly got more involved into the business, introducing ideas and concepts that she felt were the exact opposite of how her mother had intended the store to be, but which were readily embraced by her father. Aside from sweet shop, the shop became a diner of sorts were people could grab a quick bite to eat. At first this had only been a small side-business, but as time wore on, the diner took over the shop, until there was only a handful of sweets jars left on the counter.

In order to make the diner as profitable as possible, Gaston purchased his produce from the cheapest suppliers he could find and even those he milked for everything they were worth. Before long the diner exclusively sold fast-food and under Gaston’s management the food steadily became less nutritious, less organic and in the end even less natural.   
The strawberry milkshake consisted of artificial cream, a generous amount of sugar and strawberry flavor.  The french fries were made out of cheap, cloned potatoes covered in salt to make them tasty, the salad consisted mostly of mayonnaise and vinegar and the hamburgers were patched up from meat disposal.

What had baffled Belle the most was that nobody really seemed to take issue with this, or even notice it at all. Since the industrial transformation, productivity had increased tenfold and most of the people in Avonlea were now wage slaves, forced to spend their days in sweat shops, manufacturing metal artifacts at a monotonous assembly line.    
To meet the always increasing demand, the concept of basic working conditions like vacation days or reasonable hours had been abandoned and it was now perfectly acceptable to require an employee to work for twelve hours straight when an order had to be filled.

 The people of Avonlea, tired, beaten-down and suffocating between sky scrapers and smog no longer thought about sweets or even real food. They were looking for a quick way to fill their stomachs after a long and grueling day and the diner provided just that.

With the shop being once again successful, Gaston had suggested they should expand their business. Her father had readily agreed with each and every one of his propositions and to Belle’s horror the name and her mother’s store was changed to a fast food chain called ‘French Fries’.

It was around that time that she began to realize that Gaston wasn’t the man she wanted to share her life with. Their engagement more and more felt like a cage with him dictating her every move and ignoring all her worries and objections.   
 She tried to voice her objections to her father, but he remained deaf to her growing doubts, worried that if she broke off her engagement, Gaston would withdraw his help.

And that, Belle felt, was exactly the crux of the matter. She’d become increasingly more suspicious of Gaston’s motives for wanting to marry her. He had never been a particular attentive fiancee, always more concerned with the business and his plans to improve it and his reluctance to actually set a wedding date made alarm bells go off inside her head.

After a lot of thought and deliberation, knowing full well what the ramifications of her choice would be, she told Gaston that she wanted to end their engagement.  Any doubts that may have lingered evaporated instantly at his furious reaction and the massive tantrum he threw.  For weeks afterward he had heckled her, demanding she talk to him, alternating between making what he considered to be romantic gestures and pestering her with threats of what would happen if he left ‘French Fries’.  

As she had expected, he never carried out that particular threat, affirming her believe that he had always been more interested in the company than in her.   
Her father had been crestfallen by the broken engagement and had taken every opportunity to try and convince her of the foolishness of her decision.

By the time two months had passed, Belle had been ready to crawl out of her skin with annoyance at both men and decided some changes were in order.  Determined to see her mother’s store returned to its former glory, she sought ways to accomplish that, learning that the Culinary Guild could arrange an apprenticeship for her.   
Learning that this apprenticeship was with no one else than the illustrious Mr. Gold, she had jumped at the opportunity, keeping herself deaf to her father’s pleas and Gaston’s insistence.

And even only a fortnight later she was convinced that coming to Hamelin was the best decision she had ever made.

* * *

 

When she came back to the house, her cheeks cold and red and her hair windblown, it was a half past seven and just as she slide through the French doors she all but bumped into the master of the house, accompanied by Dove.

 He took in her unusual attire with a surprised look and raised eyebrows. “Where on earth have you been, Miss French?” he asked her, his voice more baffled than anything else.

“I went for a walk outside,” she answered brightly. “It was such a beautiful morning… the sunrise was absolutely breathtaking.”

For the look he gave her, she might as well have been talking in a different language. He didn’t speak at all for a few moments, just staring at her in astonishment. Then he lightly shook his head before clearing his throat.  

Next to him, Dove fitted his eyes from her to his master, and for a mere second, Belle could see a slight smirk appearing around his lips. It lasted only for a moment though before it disappeared.

“Miss French,” Gold finally ventured in the brisk voice she knew so well. “Once you are… properly attired, would you be so kind as join me in my workroom? I think it is time you became acquainted with the process of cultivating chocolate.”

“Y-yes…” Belle stammered, momentarily completely taken aback. “Yes sir, of course.”

He nodded swiftly. “Very well, until eight o’ clock then.”

Then he turned around and walked away in the opposite direction, leaving Belle with Dove.   
The older man grinned down at her, his face thoroughly pleased. “I do believe you have made quite an impression on Mr. Gold, Miss.”

Still amazed at the sudden turn of events, Belle turned towards him, not able to fight the excited grin of her face. “I can’t believe I’m going to see him at work…”

Another hint of a smirk flickered across Dove’s lips. “Believe it, my dear. And keep those eyes of yours open.”    
His smile softening he added: “You have a gift of seeing more than any other person would. And your arrival might be just what was needed.”

As she made her way upstairs to get changed, Belle continued to ponder on his words for a long time.


	6. Chapter 6

For this new step in her education, Belle choose to wear a black, knee-length, flaring skirt and white blouse. Anticipating she would be on her feet a lot, she completed the outfit with a pair of black, four-straps heels.

Excited and filled with anticipation she waited until the exact moment the large clock in hallway chimed eight before knocking on the door of Mr. Gold’s study, notebook and pencil in hand. At his call of admittance she stepped inside, finding him standing behind his desk, a small smile playing over his lips as he took in her appearance.

The man himself was dressed in black, leather pants, a burgundy red dress shirt and a black waistcoat and Belle couldn’t help but notice that the black and red brought out the streaks of grey in his hair, making it look like silver.

“Now that you are dressed for the occasion, shall we go?” he asked, his voice dry, but not unfriendly.  

Upon her nod he led her to a round, transom door, which was surrounded by bookcases, following the curve of the door. For a moment she gazed at the books, her mouth almost watering at the sight of the leather bound volumes, which looked nothing like the stark, pseudo-paper books she used to buy in Avonlea. These were real books.

“Miss French, are you coming?” Gold implored, holding the door open for her. Snapping out of her admiration, she followed him into a small hallway that led to another door. Once he had unlooked that and allowed her to pass, Belle found herself standing into a large workroom that aside from intriguing was also incredibly cluttered. So much even that she didn’t know where to look first.

Shelves lined the walls and were filled with bizarre looking objects and appliances. There was an entire shelf devoted to all kinds of small bottles and flasks and from a quick glance at the labels, Belle realized she didn’t recognize half of the names scribbled on them.   
 There was a large workbench in the center of the room, a tall chestnut cooling box, a copper kettle and - of course - a massive hourglass.

But what captured her attention most of all, was the metal, human like figure sitting in a corner of the room, behind what appeared to be a children’s school desk.  Belle took a few tentative steps forwards, realizing what she was looking at as she took in the crown pen it was holding between its fingers above a sheet of paper.    
“Is that… an automaton?” she asked.

“Yes, it is,” Gold replied, coming to stand behind her. “Dove build it. It takes notes for me when I’m working on a new recipe.”

“It’s incredible…” Belle said quietly, stepping around it to look at it from all angles. “First the car, now this… He’s truly an artist.”

“He is, really,” Gold answered thoughtfully. “Although I believe that out of everything he has made, this automaton is his favorite. He calls him Pinocchio.”

Belle met his eyes and smiled softly, understanding the meaning behind his words, her heart squeezing with affection for the big, kind man. “I see.”

“I thought you would,” he answered equally soft. Then his reticent mask slipped back into place and he walked over to the workbench.

“Come here,” he said, indicating his head.  “I”ll start out simple by teaching you how to make chocolate pralines.”

Eagerly, Belle stepped closer, watching how he took out a large, glass bowl, a set of scales and a juice press and placed them on his workbench.  Underneath the workbench were cabinets and Belle quickly realized they served as a pantry when he opened one of them and pulled out half a dozen lemons. Slicing the lemons in half, he pressed the juice out of them, containing the juice in a small cylinder glass.   
He used some of the lemon juice to degrease the larger bowl and poured the rest of it into a measuring cup, carefully pouring out a certain amount into the bowl. He opened another door to the pantry and pulled out four unfamiliar looking fruits. These were pressed as well and its juices added to the bowl.

Then out came another bowl and Gold dashed to the cooling box and back bringing cream with him. Taking a whisk in his right hand he started beating the cream at a fast, furious pace, adding spoonfuls of sugar after a few minutes.

By then Belle was starting to feel dizzy. He was at it for barely five minutes and the cream was already thickening in the bowl, the workbench scattered with peels.  

Once the whipped cream was finished, he transferred it to the measuring cup and added some of it to the bowl. The copper kettle she’d noticed upon coming into the workroom turned out to be a rather complicated instrument with various taps. Picking up the measure cup once again, Gold held it underneath one of the smaller taps and turned the key, Belle watching in fascination how white, liquid chocolate came pouring from the tap. The chocolate joined the ingredients in the bowl and taking out a spatula, Gold began to swirl the contents.

 “Well Miss French, that was one deciliter lemon juice, two deciliter passion fruit juice, three deciliter cream and two deciliter white chocolate.”

Scampering to open her notebook, Belle diligently wrote the recipe down, watching how Gold in a manner of seconds disposed of the peels, the used bowls and measuring cups. Then he pulled out a metal mold and returned to the copper kettle, drawing a bowl of dark chocolate from it and pouring it over the mold until all the cups were completely covered in chocolate. Then he turned the mold around, beat and shook the excess chocolate back inside the bowl and waited a few moments before repeating the process, until every single cup was completely coated in chocolate.

 “Basically I have created a chocolate mold within the mold,” he explained. “You want to ensure your coating is thick enough, so the filling doesn’t come out.

While this is resting for a bit, let’s return to the filling.” Belle watched as he stirred the now considerably thickened substance for a moment, before pouring it into a piping bag and cutting away the tip and carefully squeezed the filling into every chocolate coated cup.

 “Never overfill them,” he cautioned, “otherwise you’re just creating a mess.”

He had abandoned his cane a long time ago and there was something incredibly graceful about the way he worked. There was a fluency in his movements, a certainty about every single action, like his mind was already three steps ahead of his hands and Belle was utterly captivated by it.

Once every cup was filled, he applied one last layer of chocolate over the mold, effectively closing all the cups. After meticulously removing all the excess chocolate with a decorating knife, Gold at last leaned back, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I hope you’ve paid attention, dearie,” he said. “Because it’s your turn now.”

Moments later the mold was inside the cooling box and the last of the bowls was cleaned away and Belle faced an empty workbench, trying desperately to remember everything Gold had shown her. He had made the process seem so effortless and so smoothly: throw some ingredients together, mix and stir and create two dozen perfect pralines within fifteen minutes.

A few minutes in she discovered this was everything but easy. The juice press refused to cooperate and where Gold had ended up with a cylinder of juice, she only managed to squeeze out a few drops at first, until, slightly aggravated, she applied brutal force on one of the lemons, resulting in a sudden squirt that hit her square in the eye.

The whipped cream appeared to be an even greater challenge. Gold had whipped up a perfect batch in mere minutes, Belle felt like she had been beating the cream for hours until her wrist ached and her neck cramped up before the substance finally solidified.  

The copper kettle turned out to be incredible hot to the touch and although she did manage to obtain the white chocolate, she burned her hand badly while doing so.    
With the filling finally finished, Belle turned her attention to the mold lying in front of her. Coating it with chocolate shouldn’t be too hard, should it?

Unfortunately, the chocolate turned out to have a will of its own and soon the dark substance was absolutely everywhere except on the inside of the corners and nooks of the cups and no matter how much chocolate she applied, she kept seeing the metal of the mold shining through.

By then she was sweating, her back was aching and her hair was plastered to her forehead. Her hand stung where she had burned it and the chocolate was sticking uncomfortably to her skin, but she refused to give up or ask for help.

During all of it, Gold didn’t say a word, for which she was grateful, but he continued to observe her closely, his eyes never once leaving her and his scrutiny was starting to make her feel nervous.   
Remembering that he had waited a few moments before adding a second coating of chocolate, Belle willed herself to calm down and wait for the chocolate to grow hard. Thankfully the second layer of coating stuck better and she was able to put in the filling.  

In retrospect, she should have cut a slightly smaller hole in the pipping bag since some of the cups ended up with a bit too much filling, but by the time she had applied the last coating of chocolate, Belle was just glad it was over.

Looking up she caught Gold’s amused smile as he took her in and glancing down, she couldn’t help but chuckle.    
Gold hadn’t bothered with an apron or any kind protective gear and so she hadn’t considered it either. But while he was still looking impeccably clean, she looked like a complete mess, with her face and clothes covered in smears of chocolate.   
The workbench was in even worse condition, looking like it had been hit by a hurricane of chocolate fruit peels.

“We need to work on your tidiness, Miss French,” he told her sardonically and Belle nodded in agreement with another wry laugh. She had seriously underestimated just how messy chocolate could be.

“Just put your pralines in the cooling box and in an hour we’ll know if you’ve produced something that is actually eatable,” he instructed her, while turning the hourglass. “Hopefully that will leave you with just about enough time to clean up.”

Belle took her mold to the cooling box, winching slightly as she gripped the handle, the burn on the palm of her hand stinging painfully.  Just as she was about to make her way back to the station, Gold appeared in front of her and reached out for her hand, his voice softening.  

“Let me see that.”

Grasping her hand into his own, he turned it so he could inspect her palm, frowning at the angry red, slightly swollen skin.  “No blisters…” he murmured, more to himself than to her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…”

“I didn’t either,” she assured him quickly, before adding with a smile: “I was too caught up in the chocolate…”  

Her remark at least made his frown disappear and he tugged her towards the counter and turned on the cold water tap, holding her by her elbow as he carefully maneuvered her wrist underneath the stream of cold water so the force of it wouldn’t come in direct contact with the burn.   
Sighing in relief as the cold water eased the sting of the burn, Belle became aware of two very contradictory sensations: that of very cold water flowing down over her palm and the warm grip of Mr. Gold’s hand on er elbow.

After a few minutes he turned off the tab and handed her a soft, cotton tea towel. Carefully dabbing her palm dry, she gave him a warm smile, genuinely appreciating his concern.  “Thank you… that feels much better now.”

“Yes… well…. It’s no matter.”

 And instantly he turned awkward again, avoiding her gaze and flittering away from her.  “Time to do something about that mess, dearie.”

In the end, that wasn’t too much of a hassle. Gold’s workroom was well equipped with various pieces of very useful machinery and a wet cloth took care of the surface of the workbench. As for her clothes…well, she would just hope she’d find a way to get the stains out.

As they continued to wait for the pralines to set inside the cooling box, Gold showed her various other aspects of the workroom, including his extensive supply of herbs, flavors, zests, aromas and spices and Belle realized once again that what he had taught her today was only the first trick of a very extensive trade.   
He also explained the purpose and workings of various appliances and eventually presented her with a small, leather-bound book and instructed her to read it in the next couple of days.

With hands trembling with anticipation, Belle took the book from him, opening the silver clasp carefully. The leather felt smooth and soft underneath her fingertips and when she opened the book she was surprised at how easily it fell open.   
The title page read: ‘ _Godiva’s Guide to Chocolate Making_ ’ and Belle stroked the delicate pages almost reverently.   
Underneath the title were the initials ‘ _R. Gold_ ’ written in a scribbly handwriting and she realized this book must belong to his personal collection. The smell coming from the book was divinely musky, a combination of parchment and leather and Belle took a deep breath, inhaling the scent.

When she looked up again, Gold was once again looking at her with a gaze of both wonderment and confusion. Coloring slightly, she hastened to explain herself. “Books in Avonlea don’t look like this. It’s wonderful.”

The last of the sand slipped through the hourglass and that seemed to bring him back to reality. “Let’s take the pralines out,” he suggested, heading over to the cooling box.

They both took their own batch and brought it to the station, Belle winching slightly when she noticed that whereas his were perfectly formed and shiny, hers looked decidedly less neatly finished.   
Gold took a praline out of each mold and slid it in halves with a sharp knife. Like this it became even more obvious how much her pralines were lacking in finesse. Gold’s pralines were perfectly round, the chocolate edge evenly thick and the filling nicely concentrated inside. The chocolate coating surrounding her praline was uneven and at some points even almost non-existent. She had also used too much filling, causing half of it to drip out.

“First try what they are supposed to taste like,” Gold told her, handing over one of his own, perfectly formed pralines.  

Taking it from him, Belle cringed lightly as she watched him pick up one of her own, messy half. Then she brought the piece of chocolate to her mouth and for a few moments all thought left her mind.   
In all its simplicity, the praline was delicious. She could taste every single ingredient on her tongue, from the slight tang of lemon and grapefruit to the sweetness of the cream. The chocolate surrounding it was crisp and made a little ‘snap’ sound as she bit though it, the rich flavor caressing her tongue.

When she focussed her gaze back on Gold, he was surprised to see her own look of awe mirrored on his face.

“You did it,” he told her, his eyes wide with astonishment. “We’ll still need to work on your skills of course, but the taste… it’s near perfection… you’ve nailed it.”

“Really?”   
 An immense feeling of joy started to pump through her veins although she scarcely dared to believe his words.  Almost from the moment she’d arrived here, she’d been amazed by the sheer amount of talent this man possessed and by his passion for food and flavors.  

Over the years in Avonlea, as her mouth and nose had filled with smoke and dirt, she’d forgotten what her mother’s candy and sweets had tasted like. Being here, she’d started to remember it, almost to the point where she felt home-sick for it.   
Now this man, the greatest chocolatier in the surrounding kingdoms and realms was telling her that she’d gotten it right and suddenly she could see her mother’s shop again and remember the smells.   
Suddenly it was no longer a treasured, but sad memory.

Suddenly she could see it in her future again.


	7. Chapter 7

As the weeks progressed, Belle became more familiar with Mr. Gold’s workroom. Quickly copying his practice of ‘cleaning up as you go along’ her methods became increasingly less messy, much to her mentor’s satisfaction.     
To his amusement she had devoured _‘Godiva’s Guide to Chocolate Making’,_ finishing it within two days after he had presented it to her. The book became her anchoring point and she filled it small notes, sticking them between the pages and scribbling ideas and question on it as she re-read it. Soon after that she discovered the overflowing bookcase in his workroom where he kept all his reference books and started to study them diligently too.

Only once she saw him use the automaton. He had been working on a particularly complicated chocolate meringue, using a vast array of rare spices and ingredients and the end result was the single most delicious thing she’d ever tasted, chocolate so soft it melted on her tongue almost instantly, it’s flavor rich and soothing.    
She knew he kept his original recipes safely hidden in his personal quarters, guarding his secrets closer than any other worldly treasure and she often found herself wondering what she’d find there.   
He was an intriguing man, his entire world consisting of flavor and scents and the better she got to know him, the more she started to feel drawn in.

Her life was constricted to the mansion and her regular strolls into the woods surrounding it, but she had yet to start feeling lonely or bored. Each day at the factory or Gold’s workroom was tasking and filled with new discoveries and impressions and it always left her feeling happy, but tired afterwards.

 She met Dove for tea about two times a week, rapidly becoming very fond of the big, quiet man. He lived at an apartment above the garage and on the first time she’d visited him there, she barely had enough eyes to take in his collection of inventions and artifacts.   
 In many ways, he was as much the brain behind the factory as Gold was, being highly analytic and an incredible skilled technician. But underneath all that Belle discovered a very shy, caring man who enjoyed sickeningly sweet tea, could recite pages of poetry from memory and took in wounded birds and small animals to nurse them back to health.

* * *

 

One morning, as they were taking inventory of the ingredients the door to the workroom suddenly burst open, revealing a tall, dark-haired man, wearing the most exuberant outfit Belle had ever seen.

Since she’d been working for Mr. Gold she’d become used to his often interesting combinations and his preference for leather trousers everything so very much unlike the drab colors and stiff suits she was accustomed to seeing in Avonlea, but this man, clad in a long, dark green coat, knee-hight pointed boots and a tall, red leather top hat still managed to take her by surprise.

 First he approached Gold, shaking his hand vigorously and from the way his face relaxed into just not quite a smile, Belle could tell Gold was pleased to see him. Only then the tall man turned around and settled his gaze on her, his eyes widening in surprise.

“And who might you be?” “Belle French, Mr. Gold’s apprentice,” she introduced herself promptly, holding out her hand.

“His apprentice, ha!” the eccentric man cried out, turning back to Gold again. “And he never mentions anything about this! How long have you been hiding her here?”

“Miss French has been in my employment for about six weeks now,” Gold replied stiffly. “I hardly wagered this called for a public announcement.”

“I’m sure you felt that way,” the other man muttered under his breath and Gold rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“Miss French, allow me to introduce you to Jefferson Hatter, who insists on being impossibly rude,” he told her. “He doubles as the factory’s importer and distributor of the products.”

Taking off his hat with a flourish gesture, Jefferson Hatter reached for the hand she’d just dropped and brought it to his lips.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss French,” he boomed, although his expression was perfectly genuine.  
 “Excuse my manners, it’s not every day that I meet a beautiful woman when I come here… Come to think of it, this might be the first time ever.”

Torn between exasperation and amusement, Belle ended up giving him a tentative smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hatter.”

“So…” He continued to take her in, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “How are you faring in the lion’s den, Miss French?” He indicated Gold with a small jerk of his head. “Is he every bit the brutish task master?”

Glancing over his shoulder at Gold Belle could see a small muscle starting to twitch in his jaw and she smiled briefly at him before turning her attention back to Mr. Hatter.   
“So far it’s been nothing but a very interesting experience,” she told him smoothly. “The world of chocolate is quite a magical one.”

Jefferson Hatter shot her another inquisitive look before asking: “Are you from around these realms? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”

“I come from Avonlea,” she answered him, fully expecting the surprise that showed on his face.

“Avonlea?” he exclaimed. “I didn’t know there was anyone left there who concerns themselves with food any more.”

“There isn’t, really,” Belle replied sadly, “not since the industrial transformation at least. But my mother used to have a sweetshop in the city of Avonlea. It is gone now and my father is the head of a fast food chain called ‘ _French Fries_.’ I just hope that with what I learn here, I can re-open my mother’s shop and make it profitable again.”

She’d never in so many words explained to Mr. Gold why she had taken this apprenticeship and now that she’d placed all her cards on the table she shot a fugitive glance his way to gauge his reaction to her explanation.  
 To her surprise, his face was perfectly calm and collected.

“Wait a minute…” Hatter frowned in concentration. “A sweetshop in Avonlea you say… was that called ‘ _Colette’s Confectionary_ ’ by any chance?

“Yes!” Belle exclaimed, straightening up in excitement. “Do you know it? Have you ever visited it?”

“Once, when I was just a young boy,” Hatter replied, smiling fondly at the memory. “They sold the most amazing cotton candy.”

“Of course, the cotton candy!” The memory washed over her and filled her head with smells and images, warm laughter bubbling up inside her.  
 “I remember… my mother had gotten her hands on a special recipe… it made cotton candy that was both soft and fluffy as well as nearly indestructible. She was able to shape it into all kinds of figures, it was a big hit…”

Hatter nodded enthusiastically. “I got a white one that was shaped like a rabbit, with big, fluffy ears. I barely wanted to eat it, it looked so real.”

He turned back to Gold, still grinning. “I must have told you about that store once… I think that’s where I acquired my sweet tooth… I couldn’t have been more than eight years old, but I never forgot about it.”

Gold smiled one of his unreadable smiles. “You told me about it, but I’d heard about it long before that.”

Eyes growing wide, Belle gaped at her mentor in shock. “You knew my mother’s shop? Did you know _her_?”

His eyes settled hesitantly on hers. “No…” he answered softly. “I never had the pleasure of meeting your mother personally. But I knew of her reputation. She was well-acclaimed for her talent. I would not have taken you on otherwise.”

Flushing with pleasure at his words, Belle took a step closer towards him, eyeing him closely, trying to hold his gaze. “Is that why you allowed me to come here? I thought it was because of the Guild…”

He snorted derisively. “The Guild enjoys to think it has that much power. I never desired an apprentice, but when I heard that you were Colette French’s daughter I thought I’d give you a chance although I was sure I was going to regret it.”   
 The stand-offish, mocking tone was back, but this time Belle didn’t let it fool her. He might be prickly and ridiculously reserved, but he had given her this opportunity, even though he had apparently been perfectly able to deny the Guild.  
He allowed her into his workroom, gave her his books and taught her. And despite his temper and his unpredictable mood swings, he was genuinely invested in teaching her. He wanted her to succeed, he wanted her to improve a bit more every day. He challenged her, acknowledged her efforts and occasionally praised her when she’d done right.

He took her more seriously than Gaston, or even her father ever had and under his guidance she started to feel that she could one day fill her mother’s shoes and rebuild the shop to something she’d be proud off.

He might pretend to be a recluse, he might pretend to like nothing and no one apart from his work, but she was beginning to see through that.

“And now that I’m here, do you regret it?” she questioned him, never breaking eye contact.

“Well…” another mocking smile curled around his lips, but his free hand fluttered nervously.   
“Let’s just say I’m not u _nhappy_ that you’re here.”

* * *

 

If anything, the arrival of Mr. Hatter did create a more lively atmosphere. Although Belle secretly suspected that Mr. Gold grew highly aggravated with him on a regular basis, there was no denying that there was a mutual respect, if not friendship between the two men.   
With the holidays barely two months away, Belle noticed an increased productivity at the factory and she knew Gold and Hatter spend many evenings locked up in his study discussing distribution strategies and which products to promote.

A few days later, her and Gold were seated next to each other at the desk at his workroom, pouring over a recipe for truffles. They had been experimenting with various flavors and spices for two days now, trying to find the perfect combination, the automaton had carefully taking note of all their efforts so far.

Fiddling with the pencil in her hand, Belle stared down at the paper, trying to translate the scribbled words into scents and flavors.

“The white chocolate throws the entire palate off, it needs to go,” Gold grumbled, rubbing his face tiredly.

Belle knew how hard he’d been working and how many additional hours he’d put in after Hatter’s arrival and the dark circles underneath his eyes were starting to worry her.   
“All right, gone it is,” she acceded immediately , scratching the offending ingredient off the list. “If we’re still going with the sweet filling, the chocolate used for coating should be dark. I’d say eighty-five percent.”

He nodded in agreement, but continued to look indecisive. “I still don’t like the flavor of the filling. It is too sweet… for the holidays we need something with a bit more kick…”

Quickly Belle copied the list of ingredients in the margin of the page, leaving enough room to make extra notes of adjustments. Writing her thoughts and ideas down helped her to organize them better and form a clearer picture inside her head.   
 To her astonishment, Gold had picked up on her method readily and sometimes she felt that were she needed the words to form the flavors and scents in her head, he thought them up effortlessly, but had trouble turning his ideas into descriptions.

One long, slender forefinger rubbed the words she’d just written down thoughtfully, until they slowly began to tap on a particular word and Belle smiled to herself. After almost two months of working with him, his hands had become somewhat of a fascination of hers. Confident and sure when he was expertly handling the chocolate, often fluttery when he was talking, as if he wanted to distract the other from his words and his person and hesitant and unsure when was contemplating new recipes.

“We could replace a third of the cream with liquor,” he suggested. “That always goes down well during the festive season. A few years ago we had chocolates with a fondant filling with Grand Marnier and they were a success, although I’d like to try something different this time.”

They fell silent for a few moments again, Belle wrecking her brain for a suitable alcohol to use until inspiration struck her.

“Rum…” she breathed, pleased with herself.

With a snap he turned around, his brown eyes wide and startled and only inches away from hers.

“What?”

“Rum centered chocolates…” she clarified, perplexed by his reaction. He blinked and then lowered his gaze, his cheeks coloring.   
 “ _Oh_. Right. Yes, you might be on to something. Although no iced sugar… I refuse to taint the flavor of the chocolate with that. We could try to develop a filling that absorbed the Rum while maintaining the flavor…”

She realized he was talking a mile an hour to cover up his embarrassment and she was stumped at the reason. What was it about the word ‘rum’ that evoked such a strong reaction in him?   
She’d merely mentioned a liquor, not reason enough to spook him like that unless…   
And suddenly the penny dropped and she gasped at the discovery. _R. Gold_.

Rum was also his name.

A name he’d hoarded protectively in the years he’d become more and more reclusive and was now almost forgotten.   
 Her gasp effectively cut off his monologue and he looked at her with a wary, brooding expression.

“Gold will do,” he told her in a voice that booked no argument. But there was something in his eyes, something beside the fatigue and the stress of the last few days. He was reeling, just from hearing someone saying his name and Belle wondered how long it had been.

He was letting her in, bit by bit, but any unexpected move made him retreat right back into his shell and although she was secretly delighted at having discovered his name by accident, she wasn’t going to let this destroy the tentative understanding that had been building between.

“Of course,” she answered soothingly, redirecting her attention to the paper in front of them and adjusting the recipe. “Anything else you’d like to change?”


	8. Chapter 8

Even as the weather took a turn for the worse Belle continued taking her early morning walks as often as she could. She always made sure she could see the lights of the house, but one morning she came across a longs, slightly curved road that led deeper into the forest and she figured that as long as she stayed on that road, she couldn’t really get lost. Dove had told her about the animals that lived deeper into the forest and although she had encountered various squirrels and birds so far and on one momentous occasion even a doe, she was eager to see a fox or perhaps even a wild boar.

On this particular morning, the sky was grey and heavy with rain clouds, the fir needles a shoddy mess beneath her feet. The forest smelled heady of wet leaves and mushrooms and despite the chill and the moisture, Belle savored the fresh air and the first light of dawn that peaked up from above the tree tops.  
The path in front of her was straight and seemingly endless and she wondered if she’d be able to walk all of it this morning. Perhaps she ought to ask Dove where the path was leading to.

A rustling noise beside her distracted her and as she peered through the ferns that were overgrowing the side of the road, she could just make out a hare, climbing out of its hole, sitting ramrod straight in front of the opening on its hind-legs, his nose in the air and sniffling. Then, with a ruffle of its feet, it disappeared into the woods.  
Thrilled at her discovery, Belle turned back to resume her path, only to discover that she was no longer alone.

Seemingly out of nowhere a woman had popped up on the road, heading in the same direction as she was. The woman was dressed in black cloak, her face obscured by the heavy hood that fell over her face. Upon her small, startled noise, the woman turned around and empty, sightless eyes groped around.

Belle instantly recognized her as the woman she’d come across in Salem’s Woods on her journey to Gold’s mansion and she pushed down the shimmer of unease that flashed through her upon seeing her again.  
 Chiding herself for her ungenerous feelings, she stepped forward, making sure her voice sounded bright and cheerful.

 “Good morning! How nice to see you again!” The woman tilted her head, her brow furrowing in concentration.  

“I recognize your voice…” she replied in a tuneful voice. “But I don’t remember who you are…”

“Belle French,” Belle provided promptly. “We met two months ago on the road to Hamelin. You were injured after a fall…”

“Ah…” the other woman smiled benignly. “You were kind enough to take me home… I remember now.”

“Well, it was more Mr. Dove than me to be honest,” Belle replied with a soft chuckle.

“Mr. Dove you say…” The woman stopped in her tracks, her hood falling backwards and Belle watched the milky-white eyes grow large with surprise. _“Mr. Dove_ was with you?”

“Yes, he works for Mr. Gold,” Belle explained, trying not to look at the soulless eyes. “I hope you’ve recovered from your injury?”

The dark-clad woman relaxed as suddenly as she had straightened up at the mention of Dove’s name and laughed breezily. “Oh yes, my dear. I’m right as rain again.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Belle responded kindly. They’d resumed walking again and stealing a glance sideways, Belle realized with a start that the woman was quite a bit younger than she’d originally thought. In her memory, the woman on the road had been an old, feeble lady, but the woman walking next to her appeared strong and confident, not the least bit hindered by her lack of eyesight.

“Can I ask you something?” Belle asked hesitantly. “You’re by yourself and miles away from your home… How do you find your way back?”

The woman inhaled deeply and for a fleeting moment Belle was reminded of the way Gold tended to devour scents. “I will always find my way home,” she replied eventually. “The forest holds no secrets from me.”

Not completely satisfied with the answer, Belle decided nevertheless that it would be rude to press on, so they continued to walk in silence for a while.

“So dear, do tell me…” the woman eventually asked. “What is it like, working for Mr. Gold?”

Perking up immediately, Belle replied with enthusiasm. “It’s wonderful. Mr. Gold is incredibly talented and his factory is amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it…”

“It sounds wonderful, my dear,” the woman replied, her voice chilling slightly when she added, “although it’s a shame I shall never be able to _see_ such wonders for myself…”

Cringing with embarrassment, Belle hastened to rectify her blunder. “I”m so sorry… that’s not at all what I meant… I mean, the factory is very impressive, but…”

“Tell me all about it,” the woman coaxed. “Let me see it through your words…”

“Well…” Belle started, “the factory is underneath the mansion. It’s a large, circular room, filled with all kinds of appliances and equipment and I dare to wager a great deal that most of it has been designed by Mr. Dove. Every appliance has its own hourglass and every hourglass is connected to a large clock in the center of the room. That way every step of the procedure happens at exactly the right time. It’s a miracle, really.”

“How very interesting…” the other woman replied smoothly. “And how are all these machines operated?”

“Um… there’s a steam engine,” Belle answered, remembering the oak door she’d seen at the end of the hall on her very first day at the factory.

“And you enjoy working for Mr. Gold?” the woman asked, glancing sideways and for a moment Belle could have sworn she was actually looking at her. Starting to feel slightly uncomfortable by the amount of questions that were fired at her, she tried to reply in a somewhat more subdued manner.

“He is a very interesting man and he’s teaching me a lot of things. Yes, I enjoy working for him.”

“I’m sure you do,” the woman answered with a curious smile around her lips. “I think I’ve told you this before… there’s a lot to gain from Mr. Gold.

But you should also know that it always comes with a price.”

The same, prickling feeling of unease washed over her again and this time it was too strong and too poignant for Belle to ignore. There was something about the woman that made her insides twist.

“I think it’s time for me tor return,” she told her companion, grateful for the excuse. “Mr. Gold is expecting me back by eight o’ clock.”

“Well, then you better hurry, my dear,” the woman replied, re-adjusting her hood. “Until the next time we meet.”

“Good bye…” Belle replied haltingly, feeling no desire whatsoever to meet the woman ever again. Turning around, she started to walk back, her pace quickening in her haste to get as far as way as possible.

Only after a few minutes she dared to glance over her shoulder again.

The road was completely empty again.

* * *

 

The preparations for the holiday season were now in full swing. Belle had spotted Dove inside the factory on numerous occasions and when she asked Gold about it, he just smiled like a sphinx and said he was working on a ‘secret project.’

But a few days after her unsettling run-in with the blind woman, he appeared finally ready to let her in on the secret.

“Marzipan will feature greatly in this year’s line of products,” he told her. “So Dove is setting up an appliance in the factory that will enable us to make large quantities of it. Nevertheless, I want you to get some hands on experience in how to make it.”

He indicated towards the workbench were various ingredients were already laid out, together with a rather peculiar looking appliance that consisted of a box bit a pair of sharp knives screwed inside the lid.

“All right,” he started. “First, you put on some water to boil and than you measure an equal amount of almonds and powdered sugar. It doesn’t really matter how much, as long as the amounts are exactly the same.”

Putting a pot on the stove first, Belle proceeded to follow his instructions to the dot, eager to master this particular recipe. Marzipan had always been one of her favorite candies and now she would learn how to make it.

Once the water had boiled and cooled down again a little, Gold instructed her to drop the almonds in and let them meld for a few minutes.  After that came the delicate process of blanching the scorching hot almonds and Belle was surprised to discover how much easier it was for her to accomplish this task than it would have been a few weeks ago.  
The blanched almonds then went into the appliance, together with a generous shot of bourbon.  
Once activated, two razor-sharp knives started spinning around inside, reducing the almonds to chips first before it became a paste.

 

“Add the sugar,” Gold told he, “and continue until it looks like a crummy dough.” When the substance had finally acquired the desired texture, Gold stepped up beside her and turned off the machine.

 “And now for the secret ingredient,” he told her in a mischievous tone of voice. He was standing so close that Belle could feel his warm breath caress her ear and her insides fluttered nervously at the sensation.

“And what would that be?” Excitement was bubbling up inside her and she couldn’t keep the smile out of her voice even if she tried.

He produced a small flask and showed it to her. 

“Rosewater,” he said quietly. “Jefferson managed to get his hands on a fine batch from France…”

Carefully he unscrewed the lid. “Here… smell it…”

Leaning back slightly, Belle tilted her head as he offered up the flask under her nose and inhaled.

A fragile, sweet fragrance filled her nostrils, fresh and spicy at first, with a hint of musk long after she’d breathed out.  The scent made her head swim and all of a sudden she became very aware of just how close she was standing to Gold. She could feel the warmth of his body penetrating through the layers of the long-sleeved white blouse and waistcoat vest she was wearing and his unique scent of chocolate and sandalwood washing over her.

She was almost leaning against his chest, her head almost resting on his shoulder. _Almost_ , but not quite and the mere inch between their bodies filled with a crackling tension.

“It smells delicious,” she breathed eventually, her voice all but giving out.

He made a soft noise just above her head, something in between a hum and a purr and when she craned her neck slightly to look at him, she found that his eyes were closed. His nose was only inches away from her hair and he was breathing in deeply, his hand clutching the handle of his cane.

“Mr Gold…” she tried softly, mesmerized by the look of concentration on his face. His eyes snapped open and for a few long seconds he was frozen on the spot, staring into her eyes, his gaze completely unguarded. Up close his eyes were of darker brown than the darkest chocolate she had encountered in the factory so far. There were hints of lines around the corners of his eyes,  
Lines, Belle realized that would crinkle if he laughed and she suddenly wished that he would do just that.

He looked at her as if he wanted to drink her in, as if he was touching her, holding her, tasting her, smelling her with just his gaze and she felt her heart stutter inside her chest before it started to beat furiously, her lips and mouth suddenly feeling dry. He moved his lips as if he was going to speak and Belle found herself holding her breath in anticipation.

Then all of a sudden he blinked and the spell was broken. Taking a step backwards, the hand holding the flask gestured nervously between them, almost spilling the rosewater.

“Well, now there’s only this left to add…” There was an odd quality to his voice. He started off in a slightly louder voice than usual, trying to mask his discomfort with feigned nonchalance, but before he’d finished his sentence his voice had dropped several octaves into a low, hoarse whisper.

With shaking hands, Belle took the flask from him and opened appliance in front of her.

“H-how much?” she asked, finding that her own voice had become surprisingly breathless as well.

“Two tablespoons will be enough.”

He had stepped away from her a little and Belle acutely felt the loss. This was ridiculous. He was her mentor for crying out loud. She was here to learn the art of chocolate making. What went on in those warm, soulful eyes of his was absolutely none of her business.

Once the rosewater had been thoroughly mixed trough the substance, Belle opened the lid again and took out the now perfect textured marzipan.

“Well, that’s really all there is to it,” Gold sounded more like his usual self, but when she turned around he still refused to meet her eye.  

“Make sure that you clean up the workspace.”

* * *

 

He fled.

There really was no other word for it. Ascending the stairs as fast as his bad leg would let him, he rushed to his private quarters above the study and collapsed in his favorite chair.

_What had he been thinking?_

What the hell had he been thinking, smelling her hair like that? It had flown prettily down across her shoulders, contrasting nicely with the black waistcoat she’d been wearing and he’d given in to the impulse that had been plaguing him for weeks.  
She’d been wearing a grey, figure hugging skirt that had been distracting him all morning and the way she’d closed her eyes in delight at the smell of the rosewater had send most of rational, reticent thoughts packing.

 She might have been entranced by the smell of rosewater, but the scent of her hair, fresh like berries and sweet like flowers would stay with him for days.

How on earth had this happened?

When had he fallen in love with his apprentice?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filed under: scenes I'd never cut.


	9. Chapter 9

There was a flutter of activity going on in the workroom, employees carrying up various crates and boxes, with Jefferson overseeing the progress before turning to Gold.

“All right, this is a sample from everything I’ve ordered. Let me know what you think of it.”

“I will,” Gold replied, instructing one of the employees to place one of the crates on the workbench and opening it.

“I’m going down to meet with the supplier, I’ll find out how you like delivery later,” Jefferson replied before grinning to Belle. “Have fun and don’t be afraid to tell him if he’s being an overly critical ass!”

Rolling his eyes, Gold watched him leave and turned to Belle. She was wearing a lovely, plum colored dress that brought out the of the color of her eyes with a pair of closed heels in the exact same color.   
How many pair of shoes did the woman even have?

Ever since the marzipan incident that had happened a week ago, he’d attempted to keep his distance from her. After all, he could not allow himself to get tangled up in the ridiculous fantasy that she would ever see him as anything else than her mentor. She was here to learn how to become a chocolatier and with the right guidance she had everything it took to become a very proficient one. She was a joy to teach, more so than he had ever anticipated.    
And teaching her everything he knew should would have to be enough for him.

“So, what’s inside the boxes?” She was looking around her excitedly, her eyes beaming.

She was so full of life, so full of energy and somehow it was highly contagious.

“I believe you might like this,” he replied, trying and failing to keep his expression blank. “Jefferson is in the process of purchasing a large order of various fruits. These are the samples that were send in this morning. Care to try them out?”

“Yes!” Her enthusiastic cry was expected, but it still warmed him.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve tasted real fruit,” she told him. “Avonlea doesn’t import fruit anymore. Not the real fruit at least. There’s preserved fruit in cans at best…”

“…which isn’t really fruit at all,” he finished for her, his nose shriveling in disgust.   
Belle didn’t mention Avonlea a lot, but when she did it always made his heart constrict for her sake.  He hadn’t been to the city since the industrial transformation, had never felt an inkling to visit a place that had become so sterile, so completely focussed on production and industry alone.

Now that he had gotten to know Belle better, he realized even more fully what an awful place Avonlea had become in the last two decades.   
She had flourished here and the change in her, even in the two short months she’d been here was unbelievable.  Her skin glowed and there was a color in her cheeks. Her hair, that had been dull and dry upon arrival was now lush and shining and she’d taken to wearing it down more and more often.  And as distracting at it was, he couldn’t begrudge her this little indulging.

The morning walks she loved so much, her insatiable thirst for simple things like rain and sunshine and fresh air were both charming and heartbreakingly sad.

Well, at least he could introduce her to fruit again, so that was worth something.

He opened the first crate and pulled out a simple apple. Already Belle’s eyes were wide and he shook his head. How could anyone live without the taste of real food?

“These are grown in the west of Spain,” he told her. “Warm temperatures and lots of sunlight make very sweet-tasting, juicy apples.”  

Grabbing a small knife he cut out two pieces and handed her one of them. “Tell me what you think?”

Pearly white teeth snapped the piece of apple in two and Belle chewed slowly, before beaming with approval.  

“It tastes delicious,” she said, once she’d swallowed the bite. “I’ve never tasted an apple like this…”

He’d found the apple to be of satisfying quality as well, but her response made him smile.  “I think your palate has improved since you’ve been here,” he answered. “But yes, they are good. Ready to try the pears?”

The pears were soft and so ripe that juice spilled out of it the moment he cut them. When she tasted them, Belle closed her eyes in pure delight. As he watched her face intently for her response, Gold became aware that he was almost fixedly staring at her mouth and he shook his head lightly in an attempt to gain some control.   
After the pears came the grapes and the raspberries and by then Belle’s face was flushed and Gold was entranced by her responses.   
It was like she was discovering an entire new world, his world, filled with tastes and scents. And after being deprived of it for almost twenty years, she was now almost feverish with the discovery.   
At some point he gave up trying to focus his attention to the fruit he was supposed to be testing. All he cared about was showing her how wonderful food could be, how fulfilling experiencing its taste and texture could be.

He couldn’t hold back his laughter though as she tasted oranges for the first time, the tart taste momentarily making her face shrivel up.  “It combines wonderfully with chocolate,” he told her. “Both flavors compliment each other very well.”   
Turning towards the kettle, he poured some dark chocolate in a cup and offered her a second slice of orange. “Just dip it in and try again,” he coaxed.

“It’s lovely…” she sighed after a careful tasting. “I’d never guess, but it really works together.”

He nodded wordlessly, unable to make his voice work. A smidgen of chocolate was smeared just at the corner of her mouth and it took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to reach out and wipe it off. Or to lean in and lick it away, taste his chocolate on her skin, taste the fruit she’d sampled in her mouth, taste _her_ … breathe _her_ in…   
The tip of her tongue, pink and quick darted out and took care of the smudge herself and whatever breath there was left in his lungs left in a whoosh.

Turning towards the last crate, in a desperate attempt to get something of a grip on himself he tore it open with more force than strictly necessary.

“What are those?” She hopped closer, her voice filled with curiosity as she peered into the crate, leaning her hand on his shoulder as she went.

“Peaches…” He managed to get the word out without faltering, but quickly realized that was about all he was capable off. Next to him Belle brightened with happiness, squeezing his shoulder for good measure.

“Seriously? I never had them…”

Why the fates had bestowed an innocent siren on him and left it to him to introduce her to the delights of the world, so that she could torment him with her responses to it he’d never understand.   
Because the sight of Belle French all but devouring a slice of peach was nothing but sheer, utter torment. She closed her eyes and moaned, _actually moaned_ quietly as the fruit washed over her tongue and the sound of it immediately caused all of his blood to relocate southwards.

How had this woman ever survived in a world without taste and scent? It was no wonder she was all but starved for the experience of tasting the fruit and he felt immensely gratified that he was the one to offer her the possibility.

Unbidden an image came to his mind. How _she_ would taste, how _she_ would smell, sprawled across his bed, her body warm and sated from love-making. How this breathtaking sensual woman would respond to him worshipping her with his hands and mouth.

“This is amazing…” her voice was soft and she tucked a curl behind her ear, suddenly looking self-conscious. “There is so much I don’t know yet.”

He willed himself to keep in control, to master his voice when he responded to her. “There is time for that and everything else, dearie…”

More then two months had passed already and there were barely four months left. He fought down the panic this though evoked.

There was still time enough.

* * *

 

On a bright, sunny afternoon, Belle leaped at the opportunity to take another ramble through the forest. The memory of her disconcerting encounter with the blind woman a week prior was still fresh in her mind and she decided to explore an entire new side of the forest, so there was less chances of meeting her again. By daylight, the woods were friendly and inviting and she enjoyed her stroll and the feel of sunlight on her face, she smell of the pine trees and the occasional sight of a perennial tree, it’s leaves showing colors of vibrant red, yellow and orange. Breathing in the fresh air, she tried to focus on absorbing the nature and not let her mind wander to more depressing thoughts.

Her apprenticeship with Mr. Gold was infinitely more gratifying than she had ever expected it to be. There was so much to learn, so much to discover about the business of chocolate making and she yearned to learn it all. Mr. Gold was on her mind more than she dared to admit.

Her mentor was enigmatic and often unpredictable, but as she got to know him better, he became less of a riddle to her and more and more a complicated, but very interesting puzzle.

He held himself aloof from everybody. Even to some extend from Dove and Hatter. His employees feared his demands, his high standards and his ruthless temper if anyone deliberately caused problems. He was a master with words, quick with a quip that never failed to unsettle his companion and in a way he was exactly like everyone had warned her he would be. A difficult man, hard to get to know.

Hard, but not impossible and Belle liked to watch him and figure him out. He was incredible passionate about his craft and his talent was mesmerizing. And the way most of his actions and decisions were guided by his exceptional sense of small and taste intrigued her. She’d never met anyone who was so intuitive, who operated so instinctual.

The memory of the way he’d inhaled the scent of her hair, because later on she’d realized that was what he’d been doing, still send a shiver down her spine. Because in a way she’d known it had been the first time he’d really seen her.

He was intriguing and she needed to keep her wits with her not to get completely taken with him. A little more than three months of her apprenticeship remained and she was already dreading the thought of having to return to Avonlea. Hamelin was a revelation to her and she didn’t know how she was going to adjust back to living in a place that was so bleak and suffocating.

The sound of snapping twinges pulled her out of her pessimistic thoughts and to her surprise she saw Mr. Gold appearing from and intercepting path. For a second he looked as startled as she felt and than he gave her a polite nod.

 “Good afternoon, Miss French.” The black leather coat he wore contrasted wonderfully with the silver that streaked his hair and brushed his collar and Belle could feel her heart skip a beat, dismissing the sensation immediately. She hadn’t expected to see him here, that was all.

“Hello Mr. Gold,” she chirped, cursing herself when she noticed her voice sounded a bit higher and more breathless than usual.  What on earth was wrong with her?

“Once again out and about to explore the woods, I see?” he asked, his accent washing over her and his eyes teasing. Oh goodness, he was in one of those moods.

“Of course I am,” she replied cheerfully. “I’ll never pass up an opportunity. Are you taking a walk as well?”

She’d never pegged him down for a walker, mostly because she assumed his bad leg would take all the pleasure out of such an exercise.

He looked uncomfortable for a moment, but then nodded, looking somewhat uncomfortable. “I am. I thought a walk would clear my head.”

She smiled at that. “It has been incredibly busy. Is it always like that around this time of year?”

He fell into step next to her and they continued on the path she’d been walking.   
“Always,” he affirmed. “Chocolate is a very powerful confection and especially in demand during the holiday season.”

_“It can cure ailments, lift the spirit, induce passion…_ ” Belle murmured, repeating the words he’d spoken to her weeks ago.

“You remember well, Miss French,” his voice was soft like velvet and here in the middle of the forest it felt like they were the only two people in the world. “But as I recall, when I first told you that, you looked like you didn’t believe me.”

Belle laughed softly. “Oh, I believed you. I wanted to at least… but I didn’t think then that a simple taste could induce so much…”

“And now?” He prompted, his gaze fixed on her.

Looking into his eyes was dangerous, their dark brown more compelling than watching chocolate swirl in the grinder and he held her gaze until she blinked and ducked down, her head swimming.

“Now I do.”

* * *

 

The continued to walk in compatible silence for a while until another turn in the path revealed the sad sight of a half burned cottage, a few feet away from the road. Belle stopped, her eyes gazing over the ruin.   
Most of its roof was gone and the walls of the first floor were badly blackened. The ground floor was more or less intact, but it was painfully obvious that the cottage had been abandoned for many years. The glass was gone from the windows, as was the door. Weeds and ivy grew inside and mould had almost eaten away the wooden window sills.   
It was a heartbreaking, desolate sight and completely misplaced in the tranquil serenity that was Salem’s Woods.

Next to her, Gold had come to an abrupt halt and when she looked up at him, she noticed to her dismay that his face had gone deathly pale and that he was clutching his cane tightly.

“What happened there?” she asked quietly.

Gold swallowed harshly before speaking, his voice heavy and oddly hoarse. “A fire happened, many years ago. It’s been like this ever since.”  

Abruptly he turned around and stalked away and despite his limb, Belle had to jog to keep up with him as he rounded into another path.

“Nobody tried to take it down?” she asked, her mind reeling with a hundred more questions.

“No!” he snapped, his voice tight and cutting and to her shock it sounded far harsher than it ever had before. She recoiled, her insides freezing at the rebuke, wondering what had gone wrong.

He stopped in the middle of the road and heaved a deep sigh, his eyes endlessly tired and dejected.

“My apologies, Miss French,” he started. “That was uncalled for. I…”

He heaved a shaking hand through his hair and that more than anything told her how distressed he was. “You must forgive me, I haven’t been to that place for many years… I even forgot the path leads there…”

“It’s all right,” she answered soothingly, her heart softening immediately at his apology. Reaching out she covered the hand holding the handle of his cane with her own and gave a soft squeeze.

“I’m sorry if it brought back bad memories. Would you like to go back to the house?”

He took another deep breath to steady himself and nodded. “Yes, I think that might be best… although…”

He lifted his eyes to hers and a small smile started at the corner of his lips. “I wouldn’t dare to cut your walk short, Miss French.

Come with me, there’s something I like to show you.”


	10. Chapter 10

He led her deeper into the woods, taking a sharp turn every now and then and Belle hoped he knew his way around, because she no longer had any idea were they where.  Suddenly she became aware of the sound of running water and she paused.    
“Is this were the lake is? Dove told me there was one.”

He smirked, his posture finally relaxing. “Not quite… you’ll just have to wait and see. It’s just around this corner.”

As they continued to walk, the rustling sound of streaming water grew stronger and when they rounded the corner, Belle stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth falling open in surprise.

They weren’t standing at a lake, but at a rather wide stream.  In the middle of it stood a gigantic waterwheel, almost fifteen feet tall, making the water that cascaded down from it almost look like a waterfall. It’s most impressive feature however was the enormous clock that was assembled on top of a tower that enclosed the waterwheel. Pipes went down on either side of it, connected by a complicated structure of cogwheels and gears.

For a moment she wondered how she’d never noticed the tower before, but then her eyes fell on the tall pine trees surrounding the area and she understood how they would obscure the tower from view.

“Amazing…” she whispered awestruck. “Is it connected tot he factory?”

Gold nodded, the gleam in his eyes showing how proud he was of his life’s work. “The water wheel is connected to the steam engine, the power of the water enabling it to work. The engine in turn fuels all the appliances in the factory.  The clock you see on top of the tower is connected to the one in the factory. It reacts to fluctuations in the stream and if need be the production process in the factory can adjust to that.”

“When was this build?” Belle asked, slowly approaching the massive structure, craning her neck to take it all in.

“Dove build it… when my father founded the factory.” Gold replied, his voice slightly strained. The small tremor in his voice didn’t go unnoticed and Belle turned around to look at him quizzically.

“Your father build the factory? I never knew that.”

He nodded slowly, staring away from her at the water wheel. “He passed the factory on to me and I intend to pass it on to my son.”

Now she was truly floored. “You have _a son_?”

His gaze riveted back to her and when he gave her a startled look Belle realized he had probably told her more than he’d intended to do.

“I have…” he replied eventually. “His name is Baelfire and he’s ten year’s old. His mother and I… separated almost immediately after he was born. We don’t get along well… we probably never should have started… although…”

A small smile curled around his lips and when he looked up at her, his eyes were warmer than she’d ever them before.   
“Whatever we did wrong… that marriage gave me Bae, so I’ll never truly regret it.”

“Do you see him often?” Belle asked him softly. Her heart fluttered and she scarcely dared to breath, terrified to ruin this unique moment of openness between them.

His mouth twisted, a look of pure pain crossing over his face. “My ex-wife moved to Nottingham and took him with her and after that things between us grew progressively worse,” he told her dejectedly.   
His shoulders lumped down and he heaved a heavy sigh before he looked up again to meet her eyes. “I haven’t seen my son in four years.”

Belle’s heart ached for him. There was so much more to his loneliness than met the eye. His son was obviously the most important person in his life and his ex-wife had taken him away from him.  

“You must miss him very much.”

“I do,” he agreed simply, all pretense gone. “But I hope he’ll return one day and join me at the factory. That’s why it’s so important, that’s why I want the factory to do well. Because one day, it’s all going to be Bae’s.”

Gazing up at the enormous clock, admiring how the pointers shone like pure gold in the light of the sun, Belle smiled.  “From where I’m standing, your factory is very impressive.”

He smiled back at her and for a moment all of his traits and mannerism were gone.   
And in that moment Belle stopped being so very awe-struck by him. He was just a man.  A rather lonely, deeply caring, very layered man.

And the urge to reach out to him and wrap her arms around him, to kiss the frown away from his face and make the lines around his eyes crinkle with laughter almost became overwhelming.

Startled by the sudden rush of emotion that washed over her, Belle felt almost relieved when he beckoned her closer towards the stream.

\“Look,” he told her, indicating the water. “The stream origins from a spring deeper within the forest and eventually merges into the lake.”

Bending down to look for herself, Belle could see that the water was so crystal clear that she could actually see the rocks lying on the bottom of the stream.

“You could drink it without becoming ill,” Gold said. “It’s what makes the water wheel run so smoothly. If the water became contaminated, the wheel would falter…”

“… and cause great problems for the factory.” Belle finished, understanding the significance of what he was telling her.

“It would _ruin_ the factory,” he told her bleakly. “It would take months, if not a year to clean the wheel and the pipes… and not to forget the engine… not many people know of the wheel, barely anyone ever comes here.”

He had shared something with her that he, for obvious reasons, kept very close to his heart and Belle felt her insides warm with joy. He’d never been this approachable, this much off guard around her and the thought that she’d finally earned enough of his trust for him to open up to her made her head spin.

And all of a sudden, she couldn’t get enough.   
She wanted to know _everything_ about him. Not just his knowledge and techniques about chocolate making, but the man behind all that. His hopes and dreams and fears. She wanted him to trust her the same way she trusted him wholeheartedly. She wanted him to be happy - wanted to be one who made him happy.

She could feel both mortified and excited about it later, but it finally dawned on her:

she had fallen for him.

* * *

 

She wrote dutifully to her father every week, telling him about everything she’d learned, sharing funny anecdotes Dove had told her and asking after the business in Avonlea. Her father wrote back just as swiftly, writing about Avonlea - apparently new health and safety measures had been issued after she’d left and no one was allowed to spend more than an hour and a half outside, even when wearing protective gear - and the condition of ‘French Fries’

A little to her surprise, Gaston had continued to involve himself in the running of the company and with her gone he had managed to institute some changes she had vehemently opposed upon when she’d still been in Avonlea and she shuddered at the thought of how she was going to find her family’s business at her return and if she’d ever been able to incorporate the knowledge she’d gained at Gold’s factory in Avonlea.

She studiously avoided mentioning Gaston’s name in her letters, but her father had no such scruples and wrote enthusiastically about him, making Belle realize once again that as far as her father was concerned, her break-up with Gaston was only a temporary situation.

The thought of having to return to Avonlea began to weigh more heavily on her heart with every week that passed.    
For as long as she remembered, re-opening her mother’s shop had been the dream that had kept her going, that had given her the courage to go on, but lately she began to feel like there was perhaps another route for her, another path to walk.

* * *

 

The recently installed marzipan appliance in the factory didn’t yet function fluently, so on a dreary, rainy morning, Belle followed Dove to one of the many towers of the house that functioned as an attic were supplies and replacements for appliances were stored.

“Mr. Gold allows me to use to use this part of the house as a treasure chest,” the older man explained to her as he led her inside. “I store many inventions that I’ve tinkered with over the years here. There must be a grinder up here somewhere that should be suitable for the machine.”

The place could indeed best be described as a treasure chest Belle realized as she looked around in wonder. Many finished, half-finished or abandoned inventions were stacked on shelves, appliances she barely recognized, everything from clocks to small steam engines. 

“I might need to dig a little before I find that grinder,” Dove warned her. “Feel free to browse…”

There was enough to see to keep her occupied for many, many hours and Belle happily strolled past the shelves, examining every object that struck her fancy. There was a small, metal hand holding a pen and she assumed it could be used for taken notes, a lot like the much more automaton was doing in Gold’s workroom.   
There was an ingenious machine that made it easier to read books and protecting them at the same time.  Belle, who’d been terrified of ruining one of Mr. Gold’s valuable books by leaving it on the workbench as she worked on a recipe and staining them with chocolate and other ingredients thought that this particular machine might be of better use in the workroom than stored away at the tower.   
There were writing balls, some sort of sewing device and many, many different kinds of clocks and hourglasses.

But it wasn’t until she came across a small pedal plane, parked underneath one of the shelves that she stopped in her tracks. Crouching down to examine it more carefully, she noticed it was exquisitely made. The plane was painted a deep emerald with golden propellers and had many amazing details, from the small lights on the wings to the scale-build helm control inside and the small, leather seats.

The plane was big enough to hold a small child and Belle wondered if it had ever been used as a toy. Every little boy, or girl for that matter, could only dream of having a plane like that.

“Miss Belle… I’ve found the grinder I’m looking for. I’ll send a few of the boys up to carry it do-…”

Dove’s voice faltered when he noticed what she was staring at, coming to an abrupt halt in the middle of the aisle.

“Dove, look what I found!” she enthused. “Look at it… it’s magnificent. Do you think it really flies?”

For long moments the giant man didn’ reply and when he finally spoke, his voice was so soft it was barely audible.  
 “It used to…only a few feet above the ground of course, but it _could_ fly.”

 The longing and sadness in his voice caused Belle to turn around, alarmed to find that his eyes were moist and that he’d gone deathly pale. Jumping to her feet she crossed the aisle to where he was standing, gently placing her hand on her arm.

 “Dove, are you all right?” she asked worriedly.

The big man gave her a small nod and squeezed her hand affectionately.

“I am. It’s just…” He sighed deeply, wiping his eyes with his free hand. “I haven’t seen that plane in many years…”

“Would it help if you told me about it?” Belle asked carefully.

Dove smiled sadly, giving her hand another squeeze. “It would, Miss. If I could find the words… but I can’t.”

Covering his large paw with her other hand, Belle rubbed it soothingly, hoping the small gesture would alleviate some of the heavy sadness that suddenly rolled off him in waves.  

“How about a cup of tea then?” she suggested, relieved when he smiled at that.

“Now there’s a sound plan, Miss.” She let him down the stairs, tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow as they walked back to his apartment.  He let her fuss over him and entertained her with a few amusing stories about the factory.

But as she watched him, Belle could tell his was mostly putting up a brave fond, the slight tremor in his hand as he lifted his tea cup indicating that he was still deeply upset.

It appeared that she’d stumbled on yet another secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some visuals, don't forget to look at the matching Pinterest board. Look for Miss Puppet.

**Author's Note:**

> This story has a bit of Steampunk feel to it. While I was writing it, I pinned a lot of relevant pictures on my Pinterest account to keep inspired. (Tons of absolutely beautiful dresses and outfits for Belle) When the first part of the story became ready for posting I thought it would be fun to share those pictures. So on my Pinterest account I release a board along with every new chapter that shows the pictures that go with the story.  
> Look for ‘Miss Puppet’ on Pinterest or on Tumblr to find the link.


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